Cherami sauntered through the Bois, where, by reason of the season and the early hour, he met very few people. He had just lighted his second cigar, when, as he turned from one path into another, he saw a man coming toward him, very well dressed, walking very rapidly, and turning from time to time, to look behind him and on both sides, as if he feared that he was followed. When he saw Cherami walking in his direction, he stopped, and seemed undecided as to what he should do, being evidently inclined to retrace his steps. But, meanwhile, our smoker was drawing nearer, and ere long the two men stood face to face and looked at each other. Thereupon each of the two uttered an exclamation of surprise.

"Pardieu! I am not mistaken. It is Monsieur Auguste MonlÉard whom I have the honor of saluting?"

"And you are the gentleman with whom I fought at Belleville?"

"Himself—at your service, for anything in my power!—Arthur Cherami."

"Ah, yes! I had forgotten your name."

"This is very early for you to be in the Bois de Boulogne. I say early, although it is after half-past twelve; but in winter people seldom come for a turn in the Bois until between three o'clock and five."

"True, very true; but how about yourself?"

"Oh! I breakfasted at Passy, with certain excellent people, whose society is not over and above diverting: and, faith! after breakfast I came here for a smoke. How does it happen that you are not on horseback?"

"Why, because it suited me to come on foot, I presume."

"That was well deserved—excuse my curiosity. For my part, if I still owned a horse, I certainly wouldn't be on foot. You see, I am very fond of horses! I used to have some fine ones: that was my passion!"

While Cherami was speaking, Auguste continued to glance uneasily from side to side; he was even paler than usual, and his face wore a grave and gloomy expression.

"Do you happen to have a meeting on hand for to-day?" continued Cherami, flicking the ashes from his cigar. "If that's the case, and you need a second, you know, my dear monsieur, that I am entirely at your service, and that I should be enchanted to oblige you in any way."

"No, no, I have no duel this morning," Auguste replied; then, gazing fixedly at the person before him, he added, in a minute or two: "And yet, monsieur, you can, none the less, do me a very great favor."

"I can? Then, speak! I am entirely at your service. I have nothing to do."

"Yes, it was a lucky chance that led to my meeting you here. I left Paris this morning, rather suddenly, and I forgot to write to a certain person; but it's very important that I should."

"You want me to carry a letter to someone?"

"Monsieur Cherami, this is a matter of the utmost gravity; I apply to you, because I think I have judged you accurately. You are a man capable of understanding me."

"The deuce! the deuce! but you have a serious way of talking! It is plain that this is no joking matter."

"Are you still disposed to do me a favor?"

"More so than ever."

"Very well; then be good enough to come with me. There must be a cafÉ somewhere about here; a restaurant where I can write a letter?"

"Yes, we have only to turn back a little way, and we shall find what we want."

"Let us go. Have you breakfasted?"

"Why, yes; as I told you just now, I breakfasted at Passy. But that won't interfere with my taking something more. The air is sharp, and walking assists in rapid digestion."

They turned back; Auguste walked so fast that Cherami, despite his long legs, had difficulty in following him; he tried to continue the conversation, but his companion seemed absorbed by his thoughts, and did not answer.

"There's something wrong with that man," said Arthur to himself, as he lighted another cigar. "I don't know what it is, but that long face of his doesn't indicate a man who is trying to make up his mind what sauce to order for his lobster. However, it's his business. He has confidence in me, and I'll not betray him, for he's a good fellow. I am only sorry that I stuffed myself with eggs and pie at Aunt Duponceau's, for I should have breakfasted much better with him, that's sure. But every man isn't a sorcerer."

They found a cafÉ-restaurant, and were shown to a private room.

"Order whatever you choose," said Auguste to Cherami; "I have breakfasted."

"You too? In that case, it was hardly worth while to come here."

"I beg your pardon; I am going to write, I must write, two letters; then I will leave you. So, eat at your leisure; you have no occasion to hurry."

"Very good.—Waiter! Let me see, what can I take—something light, to give me an appetite? Ah! I have it. Bring me a good slice of pÂtÉ de foie gras, and a bottle of very old Beaune; we will toy with that, and then we'll see."

Cherami was duly served. Meanwhile, Auguste had seated himself at another table and was writing.

Madame Duponceau's breakfast did not interfere with Cherami's enjoyment of the foie gras, which he watered with frequent draughts of Beaune, saying to his neighbor from time to time:

"Pray drink a glass of this wine; it's old and very good; there won't be any left in a moment; however, we can remedy that by ordering another.—Waiter, bring me some kind of cheese and a second bottle of this Beaune."

Auguste had ceased to write; he sealed the two letters and handed them to Cherami.

"Will you kindly take these letters, my dear monsieur? one is for my wife, Madame MonlÉard; the address is written on it."

"By the way, how is your good wife?"

"Very well; but allow me to finish. This other letter, without address, is for you."

"For me?"

"Yes; and you must give me your word of honor not to read it until half an hour after I have left you."

"Half an hour after you have left me?"

"Yes; will you promise?"

"If it will oblige you, I promise."

"Thanks; I rely upon your word."

"You may safely do so; I haven't thirty-six words in serious matters; but the other letter?"

"When you have read what I have written to you, you will see what I ask you to do; and I am confident that you will carry out my intentions."

"I have told you that I am entirely at your service."

"Here is my purse, for I shall not come back here. You will find enough inside to pay for whatever you may have ordered."

"Very good; I will pay, and I will put the change in the purse. It's a very pretty little thing—very dainty, and in excellent taste."

"If you like it, pray keep it in memory of—our acquaintance."

"You are really too kind. I don't stand on ceremony, myself, so I accept it."

"And now—pour me a glass of wine, so that I may drink with you."

"Ah! now you're talking!"

Cherami filled two glasses; Auguste took one of them with a firm hand, touched it to the one held by the ex-beau, muttered a few unintelligible words, and swallowed the wine at a single gulp.

"Sapristi! how fast you go! one has no time to follow you. I toss champagne off like that sometimes, but it's a miserable way to drink, as a rule. I like better to sip. Shall we have another glass, so that I may drink your health?"

"No, I haven't time. Adieu, monsieur; I rely on your promise. You will not read that letter for half an hour."

"You have my word! Are you going so soon?"

"I must."

"When shall I see you again?"

"Impossible to say. Adieu, monsieur!"

"Au revoir, rather!"

Auguste took his hat, shook hands with Cherami, pointed again to the two letters on the table, and rushed from the room.

Cherami balanced himself on the hind legs of his chair, drank another glass of wine, and ordered cigars, saying:

"As I have to stay here another half-hour, I may as well employ my time to advantage.—Waiter! coffee, brandy, and kirsch. By the way, see what time it is now by your sundials, and tell me exactly."

The waiter brought what had been ordered, and said:

"The clock in the hall has just struck two, monsieur."

"Very good; when it strikes the half-hour, you are to come and tell me; do you hear?"

"Yes, monsieur; I shall not fail. Does monsieur wish anything else?"

"No; these decanters of brandy and kirsch will help me kill time. If I want you, I'll ring.—This has been a most extraordinary day!" said Cherami to himself, as he lighted a fresh cigar. "I hardly suspected, this morning, when I was pacing the boulevards to get up an appetite, that I should breakfast at Passy, and then breakfast a second time in the Bois de Boulogne. This Monsieur Auguste MonlÉard is concealing some scheme or other which is not of a cheerful nature. Those two letters he left with me—one of which is for myself—there's a mystery about the whole business! This purse he gave me is a very dainty affair; let's see what there is in it. A hundred-franc note! Damnation! I have my cue! I shall have enough to pay for my breakfast.—What are these other papers? Broker's memorandums: 'bought by order of M. MonlÉard; sold by order of M. MonlÉard.'—These are of no importance, and there's nothing else. Can it be that our young capitalist has been unlucky in speculation, and has vamosed, as they say?—It's very possible. Well! I shall know all about it before long; at least ten minutes must have passed. Let's take a drink of kirsch. That little scamp of a Narcisse has nicked my switch all up. Children are very nice—when they're well brought up.—I can't keep my eyes off that letter. Time never dragged so with me! Suppose I ask for my bill—that's a good idea.—Waiter!"

"Did monsieur call?"

"Yes; bring me my check. Add three more kirsches—I shall drink them before I go—and, when you come back, tell me what time it is."

"Yes, monsieur."

The waiter returned with the bill, which he handed to Cherami, saying:

"It's a quarter past two, monsieur."

"Only a quarter! Sacrebleu! you make a mistake; it isn't possible that it's only a quarter past!"

"I give you my word, monsieur, that that's all it is by the clock in the hall. If you will come and look for yourself——"

"All right! Let's see the footing! seventeen francs fifty. Here, change this note for me, and, when you bring back the change, look at the clock a little more carefully."

"Why, monsieur, I can't look at it any different way from——"

"Go, boy, and don't argue. I don't like arguers."

"Such is life!" mused Cherami, resorting to the kirsch once more; "when you're with a woman who pleases you, when you're playing an exciting game of cards, time doesn't walk; it flies: hora vita simul! At other times, it crawls like a tortoise; and yet, the time is sure to come when we find that it has moved altogether too fast! That simply proves that men are never satisfied with the present. Ah! what a pretty, old fairy tale that is of Nourjahad and Cheredin, which impressed me so when I read it—in my youth. Monsieur Nourjahad is a young, handsome, and wealthy Mussulman, who lacks nothing to make him happy, and, of course, he isn't satisfied; he complains because time doesn't go fast enough to suit him, because he is to marry his cousin at twenty-five, and to reign over a great kingdom when he is thirty. Cheredin is an old dervish, something of a sorcerer; he hears Nourjahad railing at destiny, and says to him: 'I can grant you the power to make time pass as swiftly as you wish; but, beware! it is very dangerous. You will shorten your life, if you do not moderate your desires.'—The young man is overjoyed, he accepts, and promises to use in moderation the power which is bestowed on him. But, fiddle-de-dee! When shall we ever see a man resist the desire of possessing at once what he ought not to have until later? Nourjahad desires to be twenty-five years old, in order to marry his cousin; then thirty, in order to be sultan. Soon he desires to be a father, then to see his child grown up; then, being at war with his neighbors, he wants the decisive battle to come at once. In a word, that devil of a Nourjahad goes so fast, in the satisfaction of his desires, that he finds that he has grown thirty years older in a month; thereupon he curses the power that was placed in his hands, and Cheredin observes: 'My good friend, that is what all men would do, if they were enabled to make time move faster.'—And, touching Nourjahad with his wand, he restores his youth, and advises him to keep it as long as possible.—That is a very sensible preachment; but if, instead of making time move faster, one could make it go backward, ah! then we should look twice before doing it. A man goes through some such infernal quarter-hours in the course of his life, that he wouldn't like to repeat them."

The waiter appeared, panting for breath, and cried:

"I beg your pardon, monsieur, for being so long, but we didn't have the change for a hundred francs here, and I had to go a long way to get it. Lord! what a nuisance change is! Count it, monsieur."

"And the time? Sacrebleu! tell me what time it is, will you?"

"Oh! I didn't think to look, monsieur."

"Then go and look now, villain! beast!"

"Look first and see if the change is right."

"I don't care a damn about my change. The time, you rascal, the time, at once!"

Cherami pushed the waiter out of the room and impatiently awaited his return, muttering again:

"Ah! how well I understand Nourjahad's feeling!"

"Monsieur, it has struck the half-hour; it's three minutes past," cried the waiter.

"At last! that's very lucky! Off with you, then!"

"But is monsieur's change all right? I want to be sure."

"What's that? yes, blackguard, it's all right; here are two francs for you; and now, clear out!"

"Shall I come back and tell monsieur the time again?"

Cherami half rose from his seat; only half, but the waiter understood, and fled.

The two letters were on the table; having thrown away the end of his cigar, Cherami took the one which was for himself, saying:

"It's very strange; I really feel a sort of emotion. Come, no nonsense; let's see what there is inside!"

He opened the letter and read:

"'My dear Monsieur:—When you read these words, I shall be dead—— '

"Dead!" cried Cherami, striking the table violently with his clenched fist. "Nonsense! it isn't possible; I must have read it wrong! but, no; that's what it says: 'I shall be dead.' Let's go on:

"'I had a very respectable little fortune, but it wasn't enough for me; I speculated on the Bourse, and I had bad luck; I married, hoping that a woman's love would change the course of my ideas, and that an attractive home would satisfy my ambition. Unluckily, I was mistaken. The person whom I married has one of those emotionless hearts with which it is impossible to give play to one's feelings; after a week of wedlock, I found that she had not the slightest love for me, but that she desired to cut a figure in society, and to eclipse all other women. Thereupon I speculated more wildly than ever, in order to gratify my vanity, if nothing more. Ten days ago, I gave a great party, to try to disguise my condition. I still hoped to extricate myself; I risked all that I had! I lost, and I am ruined!—and, as I haven't your philosophy, as I could not determine to live in poverty after having tasted the pleasures of luxury, I am going to blow out my brains. Be good enough to call upon my wife and prepare her gently for the news; I do not think, however, that her heart will suffer most.

"'I ask your pardon for the trouble I cause you, but I have formed this judgment of you: that you are a man and will keep the promise you made me. Receive my last adieu.

"'AUGUSTE MONLÉARD.'"

For a few moments after reading this letter, Cherami was speechless with dismay. He even put his hand to his eyes to wipe away a tear; then muttered:

"What! that handsome young dandy who sat there just now! But, sacrebleu! perhaps it's not too late yet!"

Springing to his feet, he seized his hat and cane, put the letters in his pocket, and left the room. Below, he inquired which direction his late companion had taken; they told him, and he hastened away toward the loneliest part of the Bois. But he soon saw a crowd of people, and, marching toward them, some gendarmes who had been sent for, and who plunged at once into the underbrush.

"What has happened?" he inquired of a peasant woman who passed him; "what are those gendarmes here for?"

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, because someone has killed himself in the woods—a young man—very well dressed, too, I give you my word. I can't understand why people who are rich enough to dress like that should do such things! That little boy there found him."

"It's all over then; he's dead?"

"Oh! yes, monsieur.—And his nice new overcoat!"

"In that case," said Cherami to himself, "I have only to execute the commission he intrusted to me."