“Monsieur, this is, to me at least, a very fortunate meeting. I have called twice, in the hope of seeing you this evening, and am overjoyed now to find you here. I behaved very ill to you this morning; I feel it now, I almost felt it at the time. If you will accept my apology for what has occurred, I make it most freely. My character is in no need of an affair to make me known as a man of courage; yours, there can be no doubt of. May I hope you agree with me? I see you hesitate: perhaps I anticipate the reason,--you do not know how far you can or ought to receive such an amende?” I nodded, and he continued: “Well, I am rather a practised person in these matters, and I can safely say you may.” “Be it so, then,” said I, taking the hand he proffered, and shaking it warmly; “I am too young in the world to be my own guide, and I feel you would not deceive me.” A gratified look, and a renewed pressure of the hand, replied to my speech. “One favor more,--you must n't refuse me. Let us sup together. My _calèche_ is below; people are already taking their leave here; and, if you have no particular reason for remaining--” “None; I know no one.” “_Allons_, then,” said he, gayly, taking my arm. And I soon found myself descending the marble stairs beside the man I had expected to stand opposed to in deadly conflict a few hours later. CHAPTER XXV. THE SUPPER AT “BEAUVILLIERS'S” “Where to?,” asked the coachman, as we entered the _calèche_. “Beauvilliers,” said the marquis, throwing himself back in his seat, and remaining for some minutes silent. At last, as if suddenly recollecting that we were strangers to each other, he said, “You know Beauvilliers, of course?” “No,” replied I, with hesitation; “I really have not any acquaintance.” “Parbleu,” said he, laughing, “you ought at least to have his friendship. He is the most celebrated restaurateur of this or any other age; no one has carried the great art of the cuisine to a higher perfection, and his cellars are unequalled in Paris. But you shall pronounce for yourself.” “Unhappily my judgment is of little value. Do you forget that the diet roll of the Polytechnique is a bad school for gastronomy?” “But a glorious preparation for it,” interrupted he. “How delightful must be the enjoyment to the unsophisticated palate of those first impressions which a _carpe à la Chambord_, a pheasant _truffé_, a dish of _ortolans à la Provengale_, inspire! But here we are. Our party is a small one,--an old préfet of the South, an abbé, a secretary of the Russian embassy, and ourselves.” This information he gave me as we mounted a narrow and winding stair, dimly lighted by a single lamp. On reaching the landing, however, a waiter stood in readiness to usher us into a small apartment decorated with all the luxury of gold and plate glass, so profusely employed in the interior of all cafés. The guests already mentioned were there, and evidently awaiting our arrival with no small impatience.