“I heard about the duel from a countryman, who saw it all from his cart. M. de Nègrepelisse came over at three o’clock in the morning to be M. de Bargeton’s second; he told M. de Chandour that if anything happened to his son-in-law, he should avenge him. A cavalry officer lent the pistols. M. de Nègrepelisse tried them over and over again. M. du Châtelet tried to prevent them from practising with the pistols, but they referred the question to the officer; and he said that, unless they meant to behave like children, they ought to have pistols in working order. The seconds put them at twenty-five paces. M. de Bargeton looked as if he had just come out for a walk. He was the first to fire; the ball lodged in M. de Chandour’s neck, and he dropped before he could return the shot. The house-surgeon at the hospital has just said that M. de Chandour will have a wry neck for the rest of his days. I came to tell you how it ended, lest you should go to Mme. de Bargeton’s or show yourself in Angoulême, for some of M. de Chandour’s friends might call you out.” As she spoke, the apprentice brought in Gentil, M. de Bargeton’s footman. The man had come with a note for Lucien; it was from Louise. “You have doubtless heard the news,” she wrote, “of the duel between Chandour and my husband. We shall not be at home to any one to-day. Be careful; do not show yourself. I ask this in the name of the affection you bear me. Do you not think that it would be best to spend this melancholy day in listening to your Beatrice, whose whole life has been changed by this event, who has a thousand things to say to you?” “Luckily, my marriage is fixed for the day after to-morrow,” said David, “and you will have an excuse for not going to see Mme. de Bargeton quite so often.” “Dear David,” returned Lucien, “she asks me to go to her to-day; and I ought to do as she wishes, I think; she knows better than we do how I should act in the present state of things.” “Then is everything ready here?” asked Mme. Chardon. “Come and see,” cried David, delighted to exhibit the transformation of the first floor. Everything there was new and fresh; everything was pervaded by the sweet influences of early married days, still crowned by the wreath of orange blossoms and the bridal veil; days when the springtide of love finds its reflection in material things, and everything is white and spotless and has not lost its bloom. “Eve’s home will be fit for a princess,” said the mother, “but you have spent too much, you have been reckless.”