Mademoiselle Guimard having dropped her handkerchief, of the finest linen cambric, edged with Malines lace, and apparently embroidered by the hands of fairies, the Chevalier de Palissandre, an arrant fop, clothed in velvet, and an expert swordsman, conceived the impertinent idea of stooping to pick it up; but he did it so clumsily that he trod on the toe of Major Anspach, who was just then offering his arm to the lady—how inexcusable! Briefly they exchanged glances—bowed most politely—and the next morning went out to cut each other’s throats.

At day-break M. Anspach had his hair dressed, and attiring himself in the most elegant manner, drove in his carriage to the Porte Maillot, which was the place of rendezvous. He put 300,000 francs in gold in his carriage, that he might immediately leave the country for foreign lands, until the family of the chevalier had ceased to mourn his death, for you must know that the major had a certain trick in fencing that he considered sure, so that according to his belief the chevalier was as good as dead.

The thing succeeded as he had foreseen; they made some passes, and as soon as the major perceived that the chevalier was getting excited, he made such a furious thrust en tierce that M. Palissandre saw the flash and fell struck by the thunder.

It was hardly daylight, and M. Anspach was in such a hurry to get in his carriage that he made a mistake, and entering that of the chevalier, was many leagues distant ere he discovered his error, and it was then too late to return.

Arrived at London, he remembered that his banker could tell him what had become of his carriage, his 300,000 francs and the Chevalier de Palissandre. He wrote to him then, and took advantage of the opportunity to ask him to send funds, for after turning his pockets inside out he had only found a few Louis. He had to wait some time for an answer, and in promenading the Park to beguile the weary moments he fell in love with a young Creole from the Spanish West Indies. The lady was on the point of embarking for Havana, and as our heedless hero could not become accustomed to the climate nor the plum-pudding, he raised a thousand crowns on some diamonds he had with him, and borrowed a thousand Louis from a friend attached to the French embassy, whom he had fortunately encountered in the street; the next morning he embarked on the same vessel as the young Creole, and was on his way to the West Indies.

After arriving at the Havana he wrote again to his banker, asking anew for his carriage and the chevalier, and demanding money. But the vessel that carried his dispatches was apparently lost, for six months afterward, the major had spent his last doubloon, and was still expecting an answer from his agent; he was also terribly tired of his love affair. In this emergency he thought the best means to obtain information was to seek it in person, even at the risk of being arrested as a deserter from his regiment; he resolved, however, to be prudent, and to enter Paris incognito. He sold his wardrobe to pay for his passage, and landed without any misfortune, assuming the first name that occurred to him.

His friends who recognized him gave him a warm welcome, and informed him that his banker had left for America, carrying with him 500,000 francs, the price of an estate the major had sold the year previous. This new accident entirely disturbed his equanimity, as the above sum, with that lost in the carriage, comprised nearly all his fortune.

He had no resource but in the chevalier, but the chevalier he was told, after being an invalid for two weeks, had as soon as he was able to leave his bed started for London. The major, who inferred that the chevalier was anxious to return him his sword cut and his money, was touched even to tears by this generosity, and the next morning embarked for London in pursuit of his magnanimous foe.

Arrived at the great English metropolis, he ran to the embassy, visited all the hotels, explored Covent Garden and the Opera, searched the gambling-houses, the fencing-rooms, the coffee-houses—no chevalier! Finally he discovered by application to the firm of Ashburton & Co., bankers in the city, that the chevalier had departed three months before to the Havana. “Oh, the devil!” cried the disappointed major, “how cruel is Fortune. I would not return within reach of the claws of my Creole for all the treasures of the East. I will go to America and horsewhip that rascally banker—that will amuse me.”

This was certainly his most obvious course of proceeding, for as he had nothing left but a small income from a farm in the environs of Phalsbourg, it was better to run after 500,000 francs than 100,000 crowns. He therefore embarked for New Orleans, where his banker had sought refuge, and he succeeded in finding him, already penniless from speculating in public lands. The major felt the less remorse for cudgeling him soundly, and then not knowing what else to do, enrolled himself in the corps of M. Lafayette, to fight the English.

He evinced great bravery, and his career would doubtless have been brilliant had it not been for his unfortunate rencontre with M. de Palissandre, which, by rendering him a deserter, made him amenable at any time to the requisition of the Provost of Paris.

The American war terminated; the major found himself tolerably indebted to some generous friends who had divined his uncomfortable position. This circumstance recalled the missing carriage, money, and chevalier to his memory, and he accordingly wrote to the Havana for precise information. But the reply was that no one could be found answering the description of M. de Palissandre, and it was therefore probable he had died on the voyage out. The major almost resolved to hang himself.

On the other side, the payments from his farm had not reached him for some months, and the new aspect of affairs in 1789 did not inspire him with the desire of going in person to receive his arrears and to learn the cause of their non arrival, he could indeed nearly guess it.

His situation could not be more embarrassing, all things conspired to overwhelm him. “Is there not something incredible,” said he, one evening when seated on the Battery at New York, and in his excitement unconsciously speaking aloud, “is there not something incredible in my being the sport of such a destiny: that I should have been gallanting Mademoiselle Guimard, when the coquette dropped her handkerchief, and cost me a hundred thousand pounds, without mentioning my scrape with the government at Paris, and my debts that I cannot pay? Oh Fate! who can avert thy blows!”

At this moment some one tapped him on the shoulder.

——