The evening after his blindfold feat, Morphy very inconsiderately took a nap in his sitting-room, with the window open. On my arrival I awoke him, and he complained of feeling cold. Next morning he was feverish, and in any thing but a fit state to meet Harrwitz. Nevertheless I could not induce him to keep his room; he said to me: "I would sooner lose the game, than that anybody should think I had exhausted myself by a _tour de force_, as some will do if I am absent at the proper hour." And he rode to the Régence in a state only fit for a hot bath and sweating powder. Well might Saint Amant call him the "chivalrous Bayard of Chess." CHAPTER XI. CONTINUATION OF THE MATCH WITH HARRWITZ. Morphy was at the Régence to the minute, but Harrwitz was not forthcoming. At last we received a message from him that he objected to play any longer in the public café, and requested Morphy to come up stairs into the rooms of the Chess Club. It would be difficult to describe the excitement caused by this announcement. Harrwitz's backers, of whom there were eight or ten, were very angry; more especially as it was at his own particular desire that the match was played in the café. The _pretext_ was, that the warm atmosphere and noise of the crowd interfered with his game; the _real fact_, because everybody, even the aforementioned backers, were favorable to Morphy. What was to be done? Our hero, with his clear reasoning, soon found the correct reply, and he sent back word that "The Chess Club being a private association, it would be an impertinence on his part to use their apartments without their permission." Harrwitz would not show himself, and the entire affair was near being put a stop to, when certain members of the _Cercle_ kindly opened the doors of their Club, and Morphy went up stairs. The two principals being again face to face, Harrwitz commenced with his "same old two-and-sixpence" pawn to queen's fourth, and before he had got past the twentieth move, Morphy had the attack, position, and every thing. But, in process of administering the _coup de grace_, Morphy's feverish state told upon him, and he committed an oversight which lost him a rook, when within a move or two of winning. It was so stupid a mistake, that he immediately burst out laughing at himself. Harrwitz picked off the unfortunate rook with the utmost _nonchalance_, as though it were the result of his own combinations, and actually told me afterwards, "Oh, the game was a drawn one throughout." Morphy got a perpetual check upon him, and it was the only "draw" in the contest. What does the American Chess Monthly mean by calling this palpable oversight "an imperfect combination?"