On leaving Rue de la Ville-l'ÉvÊque, Arthur Cherami followed the boulevard in the direction of the Bastille; he did not take an omnibus—first, because he was in no hurry; and, secondly, because he had reflected:

"If I could happen to meet in the street some old friend, some good fellow, I would ask him to be my second. On a pinch, if it was necessary, I would sacrifice myself so far as to pay for his breakfast or dinner—but at a soup-kitchen only."

But Cherami arrived at Boulevard du Temple, without falling in with what he sought.

"Shall I go home?" he thought; "what's the use? My hÔtel is not the place to find what I want; the poor devils who lodge there seldom wear coats. I am sure that this Comte de la BÉriniÈre will send me two very distinguished gentlemen; they will turn up their noses enough when they see the Widow Louchard's hÔtel; I must confront them with men who represent—— Damnation! I haven't my cue! it's infernally embarrassing! The devil take the obstinacy of that count, who insists on having seconds!"

As he walked on, Cherami saw a short man coming toward him, armed with a pretty cane of cherry wood.

"Here comes a grotesque figure which reminds me of a clown I have seen somewhere or other," he said to himself. "Pardieu! it's Courbichon. I must catch him on the wing."

The little bald man was speechless with surprise when he found his passage barred by a tall man; and he seemed by no means pleased when he recognized the gentleman with whom he had dined on the Champs-ÉlysÉes.

But Cherami seized his hand and shook it warmly.

"A lucky meeting!" he said; "it is my dear Monsieur Courbichon! Bone Deus! So we are no longer in Touraine?"

"Ah! monsieur, I have the honor—no, as you see, I am in Paris."

"And fresher and lustier than ever! I am tempted to repeat the fable: 'How pretty you are! how handsome you look to me!'"

"You don't need to: I know it."

"That's a pretty cane you have there. It isn't the same one, is it?"

"No, monsieur; it certainly isn't the one you broke."

"Didn't you have it mended?"

"It wasn't mendable, monsieur."

"Nonsense! why, they even mend porcelain! This is cherry, I see; let me look at it."

Cherami put out his hand for the cane, but Monsieur Courbichon hastily put it behind his back.

"No, no," he cried; "I have no desire that you should break this one too; one was quite enough."

"Oh! mon Dieu! my excellent and worthy friend, who said anything about breaking your cane? There is nobody throwing skittles at your legs at this moment, and I fancy that this switch is worth quite as much as your cherry stick."

"Did this one come from China, too?"

"No, my boy. Do not revive my sorrow! My Chinese switch will never be replaced; but enough about canes. I have a very great favor to ask of you, my dear Monsieur Courbichon, one of those favors which a man of honor never refuses to grant."

"I have no money with me at this moment, monsieur; and it would be impossible for me——"

"Who the devil said anything about money? Mordieu! do I look like a man who borrows money?"

Monsieur Courbichon examined Cherami, who had made himself as fine as possible for his visit to Monsieur de la BÉriniÈre; and he took off his hat, murmuring:

"I beg your pardon; indeed, I had not noticed—— But what is the favor you wish to ask me, monsieur?"

"A nothing, a mere bagatelle—to act as my second in a duel, to-morrow."

"A duel! it's about a duel! and you dare to propose to me to take part in it! What have I done to you, monsieur, that you should suggest such a thing to me?"

"I tell you, Monsieur Courbichon, it's a mere matter of form; the seconds don't fight."

"I, be present at a duel! Understand that I never fought a duel, monsieur! I would rather die than fight!"

"You are like Gribouille, then, who jumped into the water for fear of the rain."

"It's an outrage, your proposition to me! I will request you, monsieur, not to speak to me hereafter. I do not consort with men who fight duels, not I! Don't detain me, or I shall call for help."

The little bald man almost ran away. Cherami shrugged his shoulders, saying to himself:

"Old guinea-hen! I might have guessed that the simple word duel would frighten him! He won't be my second. Sapristi! I haven't my cue!"

Cherami was almost at the end of Boulevard Beaumarchais, when he heard a voice exclaim:

"Yes, yes, it's him; there he is—the man who keeps us waiting for dinner, and never comes! God bless my soul! it takes you a long time to smoke your cigar."

At the sound of those familiar accents, Beau Arthur turned, and saw Madame Capucine, attended as always by her two brats; the elder still wearing his Henri IV hat, with the feathers falling over his eyes; the younger eating gingerbread, and finding a way to stuff his fingers into his nose at the same time.

"Ah! upon my word, it's the lovely Madame Capucine," said Cherami, joining the group.

The stout woman, glancing at her debtor's fashionable attire, smiled amiably, as she rejoined:

"I ought not to speak to you again, by good rights! That was a very pretty trick you played us at Passy: to leave us on the pretext of smoking a cigar! Oh! monsieur would only be gone a few minutes; and it was eleven months ago!"

"I was blameworthy, I know it; I treated you badly! But if you knew what events were in store for me that day in the Bois de Boulogne!"

"My aunt bears you a grudge! Oh! she's furious with you."

"I will make my peace with the venerable Madame Duponceau. And the first time that I go to the Bois de Boulogne——"

"No, no; you needn't go to the Bois de Boulogne for that. My aunt isn't at Passy now; she didn't like it there. It's a place where you have to dress too much; it's enough to ruin you."

"Ah! so the dear aunt has changed her villa once more? She is just a little bit fickle. And whither has she transported her sheep—that is to say, her rural Penates?"

"To Saint-MandÉ. You see, we're just going to take the omnibus to go there."

"What! you are going to your aunt's? How funny! It seems to be written that I shall always meet you, lovely creature, when you are on your way to your aunt's. But this isn't Saturday?"

"No; but to-morrow is my aunt's birthday, Saint Élisabeth's day; and it's our duty to go to wish her many happy returns."

"Ah! yes, I understand; Madame Duponceau's name is Élisabeth."

"Do you want to make your peace with her? Here's an excellent chance. Come with us; you can congratulate my aunt, and dine at Saint-MandÉ. My husband is coming to join us there at five o'clock."

Cherami reflected for some minutes. He remembered that Capucine was a corporal in the National Guard, and thought that he might perhaps consent to act as his second. That hope decided him; he smiled at his stout friend, and replied:

"You do whatever you please with me. I had important business in Paris; but your husband can help me about it, I think. I am at your service. Ho for Saint-MandÉ!"

"Good! you are very obliging. If you go on as you have begun, I will forgive you, too."

These words were accompanied by a languishing glance of immeasurable length. It made Cherami shudder.

"I am terribly afraid," he thought, "that she would like me to take up Ballot's duties."

Madame Capucine called Jacqueline. An old servant, all twisted and bent, came limping along, with an enormous basket on her arm.

"Tudieu!" thought Cherami; "here's a soubrette who will hardly divert the attention of the haberdasher's young clerk."

"Is the 'bus there, Jacqueline?"

"It's just comin', madame."

"Let's hurry up and get seats, Monsieur Cherami. Will you take Aristoloche by the hand?"

"With pleasure."

"My! what a pleasant surprise this will be for Aunt Duponceau! She's very fond of you, you fickle man!"

"She has no ingrate to deal with, in me."

They entered the omnibus, and Cherami agreed to hold young Aristoloche on his knees, in order to save his mamma six sous. She tried to provide for Narcisse in the servant's lap, but the conductor declared that he must pay, which seemed to cause Jacqueline the keenest satisfaction. At last they started, and in due time arrived at Saint-MandÉ.

Madame Duponceau's latest purchase was at the entrance to the avenue. The house was even smaller than that at Passy; and there was no garden: it was replaced by a courtyard in which naught could be seen, in any direction, save rabbit-hutches; it was a veritable library of rabbits.

The aunt appeared, shaking her head as always. She uttered a cry of surprise when she saw Cherami, then offered him her cheek, saying:

"Kiss me; I forgive your disappearance at Passy."

The penalty seemed to Cherami a little severe, but he submitted to it; and while he was in training, Madame Capucine offered him her cheek.

"Do the same for me," she said; "I forgive you, too."

"The devil! this dinner comes pretty high!" said Beau Arthur to himself, after kissing both ladies.

"You must come and see what a pretty little place I've got," said Madame Duponceau; "what a pity that you always come in winter!"

"I don't see what difference that makes here, as you have no garden."

"But I have rabbits."

"Are they finer in summer than in winter?"

"No; but they show themselves more, because they ain't cold."

"They show themselves quite enough as it is, in my opinion. I should be glad of a little refreshment."

"And then you must tell us what happened to you at Passy that kept you from coming back to dinner with us."

Cherami allowed himself to be taken all over the house; he was not even spared an inspection of the attic. He found everything charming, admirable, even the lean-to where the servant slept. At last, when the inspection was at an end, they begged him to tell them his adventures in the Bois de Boulogne. He told the whole story, taking care not to mention names; and when he had finished, Madame Duponceau cried:

"That's what it is to fight a duel with pistols!"

"Corbleu de mordieu!" thought Cherami; "what an idiot I am to take the trouble to tell anything to such mummies! This will teach me a lesson; I ought to have told them about Blue Beard."

The dinner hour arrived, but Monsieur Capucine did not. They waited another half-hour; but the two boys complained so loudly of hunger, that it was decided to adjourn to the table.

First came a thin soup, then a rabbit-stew, then a roasted rabbit.

Cherami, seeing nothing but rabbit, made a wry face, and muttered under his breath:

"Apparently they are on a rabbit diet here. And that miserable Capucine doesn't come! To have nothing to eat but rabbit, and not obtain a second! what, in God's name, did I come to this hole for?"

By way of vegetables, of which there were none, a dish of minced rabbit, stuffed with chestnuts, was served.

"It's very strange that my husband doesn't come!" said the corpulent dame; "he must have had some order to be filled in a hurry."

"And then, perhaps he doesn't like rabbit?" suggested Cherami.

"Oh! yes, he eats it."

"What's that? Par la sambleu! I eat it, too, and I've been eating it for an hour, but I don't like it any better for that."

"You don't like it? What a pity! there's more of it coming!"

"A rabbit-cream, perhaps?"

"No, a pie."

"Thanks; if you will allow me, I will take some cheese, as a pleasant substitute. Gad! I don't wonder that your yard is carpeted with rabbit-hutches; they are productive evidently."

"Much more so than fruit trees."

"Well, well! I see that you will end by preserving them. But your wine is good, that's something."

"Here's my aunt's health!"

"With great pleasure. Vive Élisabeth!"

"Aristoloche and Narcisse, now recite your congratulations."

"What! have the dear children learned something by heart?"

"Yes, aunt; we'll show you."

"Oh! the dear loves, how sweet of them! Who wrote them?"

"My husband, aunt; they are in poetry!"

"Your husband writes poetry? I didn't know he had that talent; how long has he been a poet?"

"Since we have had for a customer a literary man who writes mottoes; he brings us some every time he comes to the house. Come, Aristoloche, begin. Go and stand in front of your aunt; and pronounce your words plain."