Then, in his long and wretched _désoeuvrement_, his melancholia, he drifted into an indiscreet flirtation with a beautiful lady--he (as had happened before) being more the pursued than the pursuer. And so ardent was the pursuit that one fine morning the beautiful lady found herself gravely compromised--and there was a bother and a row. "Amour, amour, quand tu nous tiens, On peut bien dire 'Adieu Prudence!'" All this gave Lady Caroline great distress, and ended most unhappily--in a duel with the lady's husband, who was a Colonel of Artillery, and meant business! They fought with swords in a little wood near Laeken. Barty, who could have run his fat antagonist through a dozen times during the five minutes they fought, allowed himself to be badly wounded in the side, just above the hip, and spent a month in bed. He had hoped to manage for himself a slighter wound, and catch his adversary's point on his elbow. Afterwards, Lady Caroline, who had so disapproved of the flirtation, did not, strange to say, so disapprove of this bloody encounter, and thoroughly approved of the way Barty had let himself be pinked! And nursed him devotedly; no mother could have nursed him better--no sister--no wife! not even the wife of that Belgian Colonel of Artillery! [Illustration: BARTY GIVES HIMSELF AWAY] "Il s'est conduit en homme de coeur!" said the good Abbé. "Il s'est conduit en bon gentilhomme!" said the aristocratic Father Louis, of the princely house of Aremberg. On the other hand, young de Clèves the dragoon, and Monsieur Jean the Viscount, who had served as Barty's seconds (I was in America), were very angry with him for giving himself away in this "idiotically quixotic manner." Besides which, Colonel Lecornu was a notorious bully, it seems; and a fool into the bargain; and belonged to a branch of the service they detested. The only other thing worth mentioning is that Barty and Father Louis became great friends--almost inseparable during such hours as the Dominican could spare from the duties of his professorate. It speaks volumes for all that was good in each of them that this should have been so, since they were wide apart as the poles in questions of immense moment: questions on which I will not enlarge, strongly as I feel about them myself--for this is not a novel, but a biography, and therefore no fit place for the airing of one's own opinion on matters so grave and important. When they parted they constantly wrote to each other--an intimate correspondence that was only ended by the Father's death. Barty also made one or two other friends in Malines, and was often in Antwerp and Brussels, but seldom, for more than a few hours, as he did not like to leave his aunt alone. One day came, in April, on which she had to leave him. [Illustration: SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR]