Some time ago one St. Hilaire entered your Majesty’s service as a gentleman cadet. I understand he is now serving in Hungary. This young gentleman’s eldest brother is dead, and, if I mistake not, he stands next in succession to the estate; there are several brothers, and, if he is not present when the property is divided, there is danger of his not getting his proper share; as the loss to him might be considerable, his friends have come to the conclusion that he ought to be summoned home, and have requested me to write to your Majesty, and ask for an honourable discharge, which request I hereby comply with. It will be a good occasion for your Imperial Majesty to exercise your kindness by graciously giving him leave of absence for the transaction of private business. The plague is breaking out afresh in several places, the wind being unusually steady, and never shifting, unless it be from south to west. As to the Greek books, I most humbly repeat my request that your Majesty would keep the matter in mind. There was lately in Paris a gentleman of good family, who was a notorious duellist. His name was the Baron de Viteaux,[165] and he had attained some celebrity by the bold and successful way in which he had killed sundry gentlemen with whom he had differences. The son of one of his victims was anxious to avenge his father’s death; he had also another motive, for having lately been discovered in a plot against the Baron’s life,[166] he knew that unless he killed him his doom was sealed. Accordingly he determined to take a decided course; so last Sunday he invited the Baron to measure swords with him in a field near Paris; the arrangement was that they should have in attendance only one servant apiece, and a gentleman of rank, the common friend of both parties, to act as umpire and marshal of the lists; the duel to be with sword and dagger, no other weapon being allowed, and only to be terminated when one of the combatants should have fallen. The Baron accepted the challenge; as soon as they met he ran his opponent through the arm and stretched him on the ground; not liking to strike him when he was down, he told him to get up. This act of kindness cost him dear, for his opponent, in no way daunted by his wound, but burning to avenge his fall, with one vigorous and skilful thrust, ran the Baron through the heart; then, as he lay dying on the ground, he stabbed him again and again, and thus rewarded his folly in sparing an antagonist whose arm still held a sword. Though scarcely twenty-one, the young man had for years been devoting himself to the art of fencing, with a view to this meeting. Thus died the famous Baron, who was looked on here as a second Mars, and is thought to have frightened the King[167] more than once. His end was like that of Montal[168] and Bussy,[169] both of whom died as they deserved to die. ‘Aspiciunt oculis superi mortalia justis.’ The victor is not yet out of danger. He received two wounds,