"He cheated you, my dear boy; I would stake my head on it!"

"Oh! messieurs!" cried Chamoureau, "can it be that you suspect that worthy Bavarian of being a Greek?"

"I suspect it because I am certain that that unprepossessing person, who claims to be a German baron and can't speak German, is simply your wife's brother!"

"What! the brother of--then my wife is a baroness----"

"No more than he's a baron; he gave himself away several times when he had drunk too much. However, I hope to see him again, and to find out just what to think. Where is he now?"

"Gone to Paris, on urgent business, so my wife said."

"Messieurs," interposed Edmond, "it seems to me that you are forgetting what brings you together; be good enough to complete your arrangements for the duel."

"Well, messieurs, what do you propose? we are waiting to hear from you."

"To-morrow morning, at eight o'clock----"

"Why not finish it up to-day?"

"Presumably because that would not suit Monsieur Luminot. If you interrupt us so soon--hum! hum!--we shall never finish."

"True; go on, monsieur."

"To-morrow morning, at eight o'clock, in the little wood behind what used to be the keeper's house, as you go down the hill toward Raincy."

"Very good," said Paul, "I know the place."

"Monsieur Luminot chooses pistols."

"Agreed."

"And he will fire first."

"That may be open to discussion," said Freluchon; "for your man began the attack by his slurring remarks."

"No, no discussion!" exclaimed Edmond; "let him fire first--I agree."

"Then, messieurs, as everything is arranged,--hum! hum!--we have only to salute you."

"I beg pardon, monsieur," said Paul, addressing himself to Monsieur Remplume, who strove to maintain a surly expression; "if your opinion concerning the ladies insulted by Monsieur Luminot agrees with his, you too will have to deal with us; for you understand, messieurs, that _no one_ may hereafter repeat those slanders, under pain of being chastised by us!"

The little, lame man turned green; Chamoureau sank upon a chair and put his handkerchief to his eyes, stammering:

"How can you believe me capable of speaking unkindly of those ladies, for whom I bought Monsieur Courtivaux's house! I carry their images in my heart. I give no thought now to anything except the age of trees----"

"Enough! enough! we believe you!" said Freluchon.

Monsieur Remplume made the same protestations as Chamoureau.

"That is all very well, messieurs," said Paul; "but you will simply have the kindness to repeat this profession of faith in public, when we request you to do so."

Luminot's two seconds promised all that they were asked to promise, and hastened to take their leave.

"Now," said Edmond, "as the rest of the day is ours, let us go at once to those ladies, who, I am sure, are surprised not to have seen us yet.

But not a syllable concerning the duel!"

"Very good," said Freluchon; "provided that some infernal gossip hasn't told them of it already."

"Let us go; look, messieurs, see how Ami gazes at us and runs to the door! Ah! he divines that we are going to see the persons to whom he is so attached; he is showing us the way."

After her conversation with Paul, Honorine had hardly been able to sleep at all. Happiness frequently causes insomnia; it often keeps us wider awake than grief.

As soon as day broke, Honorine watched for Agathe to wake; it seemed to her that she slept much longer than usual. At last the girl opened her eyes; and she instantly read on her friend's face that something extraordinary had happened. Having nothing in her head but her love, her first impulse was to cry:

"What has happened to Edmond?"

"To Edmond? Why, nothing new, I imagine. He went to that party, and probably pa.s.sed the night there. As you may imagine, I haven't seen him to-day; it isn't seven o'clock."

"Then why do you look at me so, my dear love? You certainly have something to tell me!"

"Yes, my dear child, I have to speak to you of your father--to tell you at last why your poor mother never saw him again."

"Mon Dieu! can it be possible? You know that? Who can have told you?"

"Monsieur Paul Duronceray."

"He knew my father?"

"Yes."

"He has seen him, and spoken to him?"

"Yes."

"My poor father! he is dead, of course; otherwise he would not have abandoned us."

"He is dead!"

"Oh! my dear love, tell me quickly everything that happened to him!--Speak! speak! I long to hear!"

"I shall have to say much of Monsieur Paul."

"Speak--I will not lose a word!"

Honorine seated herself on Agathe's bed and told her the story of the fatal liaison between Paul and Thelenie, which resulted in the duel and in her father's death. She concluded thus:

"You have witnessed the regret, the remorse of the man who was the victor in that duel. From that day to this he has never ceased to try to find out what had become of you.--Will not you forgive him, as your father did?"

Agathe wept bitterly.