"You ask me what brings me, monsieur!" retorted De Brevanne, still standing in front of De Roncherolle. "You ask me that! you mean that you do not divine?" "Faith, no!" "When you see once more the man whom you shamelessly outraged, and whom you have eluded for so many years, you do not divine that he comes to demand the satisfaction which you refused him so long ago?" "Bah! do you really mean it's for that? What! after so long a time, after twenty years, you still think of that business?" "There is no limitation in matters relating to honor." "Ah! that makes a difference; you are obstinate about it. I am sorry for that; but did not I admit my fault? Didn't I ask your pardon long ago? Come, Brevanne, come, does not heaven say: 'mercy for all sins?' We were such good friends once." "Hush! do not appeal to the memory of that friendship, which makes your conduct even more odious. But let us not waste time in useless talk; for twenty years I have been looking for you, to fight with you; I have found you to-day, and I trust that you will no longer refuse to give me satisfaction." "Since you are bent upon it! Mon Dieu! men are supposed to become reasonable when they grow old; the fact is that they are never reasonable.--Honor! honor! oh! how right Beaumarchais was!--All this is infernally stupid, on my word!" "Well, monsieur?" "Well, I will do whatever you wish; arrange it for--for--ah! ten thousand million thunders! how I suffer! how I suffer!" A violent attack of pain seized the invalid; he turned pale, his voice died away, great drops of perspiration rolled down his cheeks, the contraction of his features proved the violence of the pain that he felt, and the count was deeply moved at sight of his suffering; he looked all about the room in search of something to help him. He saw on the mantelpiece a phial filled with a liquid; he took it and offered it to Roncherolle. "Here, perhaps this is what you take when you have such attacks. Drink." "No," replied Roncherolle, pushing away the phial. "Let me suffer; I have well earned it; you see what I am reduced to; if you kill me, instead of punishing me you will do me a favor." "Monsieur," said the count, "the duel cannot take place while you are in this condition, I appreciate that; I must wait until you are cured, in order that I may have an adversary worthy of me. I leave you, and I will come again a fortnight hence to learn how you are." "Oh! as you please. Are you going?" And with an involuntary gesture Roncherolle put out his hand to the count; but he contented himself with a slight inclination of the head, saying: "I will send somebody to you, monsieur, to help you." Then he took his leave, still upset by what he had seen, saying to himself: "What a change! he is unrecognizable. Ah! he is in a still worse plight than she!"