Tobie left Bastringuette, convinced that the lady who desired to see him the next evening could be no other than she whom he had failed to triumph over on the Champs-ÉlysÉes. He determined to be very prompt at the rendezvous, and not to take his charmer to a private dining-room overlooking a mountebank's booth.

The young man passed the whole of the next day dressing and curling and perfuming himself.

"To-night," he thought, "the voluptuous Plays shall not escape me; indeed, as she herself has made the assignation, it is probable that it is not her intention to be too cruel. I shall have in her such a mistress as I desire. She is rich, and they say she is capable of doing insane things for a man she loves. Suppose she should be willing to redeem my olive from Varinet—why not?—until Aunt Abraham gives me an interest in her business. Faith! I feel disposed to be very amorous."

The night arrived in due time; Tobie, having become less timid since he had a love affair in prospect, left his lodgings just at dusk. It was only half-past eight, and he was walking slowly in the direction of Place des Italiens, when, at the corner of Rue du Mont-Blanc, his attention was attracted by a lady crossing the street, whose figure resembled that of the person he expected to meet; quickening his pace a little, he soon overtook her, and found that it was, in truth, the sentimental Herminie. He at once approached her and offered his arm, saying:

"I was on my way to the rendezvous; you see how zealous I am, for it is not nine o'clock; but it seems that we are equally eager for the meeting."

Madame Plays started back, surprised to see a stranger offer her his arm; but in an instant she recognized Pigeonnier, and exclaimed:

"What! is it you, monsieur? Are you on your way again to replace your friend—that blackguard Albert? Ah! what a monster that fellow is! how I detest him!"

"Why, no, madame; I have come on my own account; I am on my way to the PÂtÉ des Italiens, as you know."

"As I know? What difference does it make to me where you are going?"

"Why, don't you understand? I was going to the PÂtÉ des Italiens, at the time you mentioned."

"Oh! you weary me with your pÂtÉ, monsieur! I don't understand a word you say."

"What, madame! wasn't it you who gave me a rendezvous for this evening, at nine o'clock?"

"A rendezvous! I! Why, you're mad, monsieur! I never gave you a rendezvous!"

Tobie was petrified; he saw that he had formed false hopes; but, determined to make the most of his meeting with Madame Plays, he rejoined:

"I was told that a pretty woman wished to see me. The description which was given me of the person was so seductive—I thought it was you—and notwithstanding the somewhat—er—savage way you treated me the last time I saw you, it made me very happy to think that I was going to see you again."

Madame Plays was never insensible to a compliment; she could not help laughing as she glanced at the short, stout youth; then she replied, with an irritated air:

"Oh! you're not the one I have a grudge against; but that monster, that ungrateful wretch! Can you conceive such a thing as his making a fool of me again?"

"Who, pray?"

"Why, Albert, monsieur—your friend Albert."

"Oh! Albert—it's so long since I saw him."

"Well, I have seen him again, I have had that happiness. I didn't want to receive him, I had given orders that he wasn't to be admitted—and if it hadn't been for that idiot of a Monsieur Plays!"

"I am very curious to hear the story."

"Very well; I will take your arm, and tell it to you."

"Ah! how kind you are!"

"And perhaps——"

"Perhaps—— Oh! please finish the sentence, divine creature——"

"First of all, I want to be revenged on Albert, I give you warning; and the man who should avenge me—oh! I don't know what I would not do for him!"

"O God! you have given me a glimpse of heaven, of Olympus! I will avenge you, I give you my word; yes, I will avenge you twice over; you will see what an avenger I am!"

"Enough! Bless my heart, what a libertine you are! You think at once of things that——"

"And what do you expect a man to think of when he's beside a pretty woman?—of roasting coffee?"

"Yes, monsieur, yes, I saw Albert four days ago; he called on me, and I refused to receive him. Then what does he do? He goes to see my husband, and makes himself at home in his office;—my husband is so foolishly good-natured! he made Albert welcome, and I went there, by chance, and found him there with a lovely bouquet. He made such repentant eyes at me, that I was kind-hearted enough to allow myself to be moved. In a word, I consented to let him go with me to my boudoir; there he said—some pleasant things—nothing to speak of—then begged me to show him the lovely cashmere shawl that I wore at Count Dahlborne's party. I yielded to that caprice, and monsieur went away, making an appointment with me for the next day, which he did not keep."

"That was abominable!"

"But that is not all. I have learned since that he has bought the only shawl like mine in Paris, probably to give it to some woman who was pleased with mine. So, you see, he came back to me solely to see my shawl; and, since then, I have written to him six times, and he has not come again, nor has he even deigned to write a word in reply!"

"Ah! such conduct is very blameworthy."

"Say rather that it is worthy of a street urchin."

"I dared not say it, but I thought so. And you, who deserve to be so madly adored! As for the letter of the other day, I had not read it; I handed it to you in all confidence. If I had known that it contained anything offensive, you must be convinced that I would not have undertaken to deliver it."

"I believe you. But to come just to see the shawl, to buy one like it to give to some woman, to make an appointment with me and not keep it, and not to answer a single one of my letters—oh! that is too much, and I am an outraged woman! that is to say, monsieur, I must have blood! For lack of a better champion, I would have appealed to my husband; I would have worked him up to the point of fighting with Albert. Yes, he would have fought, for he does everything I want him to. But, all things considered, I prefer that he should not be the one to avenge me; that wouldn't be exciting enough; and as you offer yourself, I accept you."

Tobie was rather embarrassed; he was not expecting that Madame Plays would demand that he fight a duel with Albert; he did not suppose that she contemplated such a serious vengeance as that, and he feared that he had gone too far.

The lady observed his indecision, and at once continued:

"You hesitate! you are not worthy of a glance from me. Release my arm, monsieur, and do not speak to me, do not look at me again; I do not know you!"

"Why, no! no! I am not hesitating," cried Tobie, detaining the arm that was passed through his; "I will do whatever you wish; I will fight with Albert, since that will give you pleasure."

"Very well. You will kill him!"

"I can't promise to kill him outright, but I will do all that I possibly can."

"Well, you will wound him at least, and bring me one of his ears."

"Oho! do you really want one of his ears? It seems to me that I might bring you something better than that."

"I want some proof of your victory."

"Oh! I will bring you one, I promise you."

"Then you will be—my chevalier."

"Couldn't I be that at once; I only ask to be armed."

"When you have conquered Albert."

"Give me the kiss, at least."

"Can you think of such a thing, here, on the boulevard?"

"Let us take a cab; one can be created a chevalier very nicely in a cab; why, one of my friends was admitted into the Freemasons in a citadine."

"No, monsieur, no; I won't get into a cab with you now. You see, I know you; you are too enterprising; when you have avenged me, it will be a different matter. Then I shall feel bound to reward you."

"Ah! mon Dieu! how I wish that that time had come!"

"It depends entirely upon you whether it comes soon."

"It won't be long, I promise you. I will go in search of Albert, and you will have news of him very quickly. Either you will be avenged, or I will perish in the attempt!"

"Bravo! you are a man of spirit. Come and tell me the result of your duel—for you will be the victor, I have no doubt. You may come up to my boudoir by the narrow staircase on the right in the courtyard; it is on the first floor. Say to my maid: 'I am Tobie,' and you will be admitted."

"Ah! I shall swoon with joy on the threshold of your boudoir!"

"I should say that you would do much better to come in."

"I will come in, adorable creature! I will come in, and you will be obliged to turn me out!"

"And now, adieu! I must leave you; I am going to take a cab and pass the evening with one of my friends."

"And you won't allow me to go with you?"

"No. Adieu!"

Madame Plays hurried away, and Tobie, who had entirely forgotten the rendezvous on Place des Italiens, returned to his lodgings.

"Most assuredly I shall not fight with Albert," he said to himself; "I haven't the slightest inclination to do it. But I will tell him of my meeting with Madame Plays, as well as her proposition to me. Albert is a good fellow, he likes a joke, and he will help me to invent some way of making her think that we have fought. Oh, yes!—but my olive! However, it isn't Albert that I owe the money to, after all, and I'll tell him Varinet hasn't shown up."

Nine o'clock was just striking, the next morning, when Tobie called at the Vermoncey mansion and asked Albert's servant if his friend was visible. The servant ushered Tobie into the young man's bedroom, where he was still asleep.

"It's I, my dear Albert," said Tobie, speaking very loudly; "if you want to sleep some more, don't wake up; I will go away."

Albert woke, rubbed his eyes, recognized Tobie, and murmured sleepily:

"What! is it you, Tobie? where in the devil have you come from?"

"From home, of course."

"And why didn't you come last evening to Place des Italiens, where somebody was waiting for you?"

"Oho! how do you know that?"

"Parbleu! because it was Mouillot, Balivan, CÉlestin, and I who made the appointment with you through Bastringuette."

"Really?"

"We meant to play a practical joke on you, and we got ourselves arrested and put in the guardhouse!"

"Ha! ha! charming! delicious!"

The little man twisted himself about in an easy-chair, and laughed till he cried.

"But tell me why you have come to see me so early in the day? have you come to redeem your fetich? Perhaps you don't know Varinet's address?"

"I didn't come for that, my friend. I have another reason; I have a favor to ask of you."

"You want to borrow five hundred francs?"

"That isn't what I came for, but if you are willing to lend it to me, it would be very welcome just at this time."

"Well, why did you come and disturb my sleep?"

"In the first place, my friend, it's late, and I wouldn't have waked you if your servant hadn't told me that you had something on hand this morning."

"Great heaven!" cried Albert, hastily throwing off the bedclothes; "you remind me! what time is it, pray?"

"About a quarter past nine."

"I haven't a minute to lose, for I have a duel this morning at ten! Gad! I must make haste."

"What's that? you are going to fight a duel?" said Tobie, involuntarily recoiling from his friend, and concluding that Albert was aware of Madame Plays's hopes; "why, no, Albert; no, you mustn't fight; it isn't worthwhile—a burlesque duel is all that's necessary."

"What in the devil are you talking about? do you mean to say that you know the cause of my duel with Count Dahlborne?"

"Count Dahlborne? oho! you're going to fight with him, are you?"

"To be sure."

Tobie breathed more freely.

"No, I know nothing about that," he replied, running his hand through his hair; "I got it mixed up with something else. Imagine, if you please, that Madame Plays, whom I met last night, absolutely insists on my fighting with you."

"Oh! as to her, it's a different matter. Poor woman! What answer did you make?"

"I promised to kill you for her."

"Very good; listen—perhaps it can be arranged to suit you: if the count kills me, you must tell Madame Plays that you did it."

"Oh! the idea! Poor Albert! I should be so distressed! Are you really going to fight?"

"Most certainly I am. By the way, as you are on the spot, you must be my second; for I shall not have time to send for anybody else."

"Your second!"

"You don't mean to refuse, I trust?"

"You see, my dear fellow, if you should be wounded, I should be ill, I know."

"Nonsense! you must overcome such weaknesses as that; you shall be my second, and I'll lend you five hundred francs to redeem your olive; and I give you leave to tell Madame Plays that you have beaten me, wounded me, killed me—whatever you choose."

"I haven't the heart to refuse. I will sacrifice myself and be your second. Shall we breakfast?"

"I think not; but afterward, if I am the victor, there'll be nothing to prevent."

While they were talking, Albert had dressed; he took his box of pistols, sent for a cab, and entered it with Tobie, who was very pale and agitated. As they passed the CafÉ de Paris, on the boulevard, Albert cried:

"Oh! mon Dieu! I have forgotten something!"

"What is it? Have you two duels on hand?"

"No, but if anything should happen to me—I haven't written a word of farewell to my father. I will step into this cafÉ, while you go and find a messenger for me—Sans-Cravate, if you can."

"Very well, my friend."

Albert alighted from the cab and went into the cafÉ to write his letter; meanwhile, Tobie turned back to the corner of Rue du Helder to find the messenger. Sans-Cravate and Jean Ficelle were not in their places, but he saw Paul and hurried to where he stood.

"You must come with me, my boy."

"Yes, monsieur."

"You will be given a letter to deliver."

"I will deliver it, monsieur."

"You are to carry it to—but my friend probably won't want it to be delivered at once. It's a very serious matter—a duel."

"Is it you who are going to fight, monsieur?"

"No; but I am to act as second, which is almost the same thing. The letter's for his father. Sapristi! this business upsets me so—it seems to me it would be much better if we could prevent this duel."

"How can that be done, monsieur?"

"I haven't any idea; but come."

Paul accompanied Tobie. Albert had written his letter, and was waiting by the cab.

"Hurry, hurry!" he shouted to Tobie, who did not quicken his pace. "It has just occurred to me that you can take this letter and give it to my father, if I am killed."

"Thanks; much obliged; a delightful commission that! No, indeed; give it to this fellow."

Albert handed Paul the letter, saying:

"Now, my friend, listen carefully to what I say. If you do not see me again within two hours, you will take this letter to my father, Monsieur Vermoncey, Rue Caumartin—the address is on the envelope; but not before two hours from this time! do you understand?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Take this;—and now, Tobie, let us be off."

Albert entered the cab, but Tobie seized the opportunity to whisper in Paul's ear:

"Carry the letter at once; then his father, knowing that he is going to fight, may succeed in preventing the duel."

"Come on, Tobie! we have no time to waste."

"Here I am; I was just fixing my suspenders."

When the young men were in the cab, the driver, spurred on by Albert, lashed his horse, which started off at a rapid trot; and Paul was left standing on the boulevard, with the letter to Monsieur Vermoncey in his hand.

The young messenger considered what it was his duty to do. The sight of Albert recalled the adventure of the loft, CÉlestin's insolence, and his schemes to seduce Elina. For a moment, he was tempted to wait the prescribed two hours before delivering the letter. But such impulses, inspired by hatred, could not long exist in his heart.

"This Monsieur Albert isn't as vicious as the others," he thought; "he allows his friends to lead him into folly, just as Sans-Cravate allows Jean Ficelle to lead him. But I don't believe that he is bad at heart. And if he should be killed! Mon Dieu! I think I have heard that his father had no one left but him, that he had lost all his other children. Ah! I must at least try to save this one for him. I will deliver the letter at once."

Paul went to the address written on the letter. He did not know Albert's father, he had never seen him; and yet, the thought of his grief if his son should fall in this duel awoke the keenest interest in his heart.

"I would like to speak to Monsieur Vermoncey—the elder," said Paul to the concierge.

"Second floor, door at the left."

"Is he at home?"

"Yes; he never goes out so early."

The messenger ran hastily up the two flights of stairs, rang at the door, and said to the servant who answered the bell:

"I would like to speak to Monsieur Vermoncey."

"What do you want of him?"

"I have a letter for him."

"Give it to me; I will hand it to him."

"Oh! no, I must give it into his own hands."

"But monsieur is breakfasting. However, I'll go and tell him. Wait."

"But tell him that it is very urgent, most important."

The servant left Paul in the reception-room, frantic with impatience. At last the man returned, and ushered him into the room where Monsieur Vermoncey was breakfasting.

Albert's father looked up at the young man, who seemed to be profoundly agitated. Paul's interesting and by no means ordinary face prepossessed everybody in his favor; Monsieur Vermoncey addressed him kindly:

"You wish to speak to me, my friend?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"You have a letter for me, I understand?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Give it to me."

"Oh! pardon me; but I must tell you first under what circumstances it was handed to me."

"Very well, go on. But you seem much excited, my friend; try to be calm. If you have come in behalf of some unfortunate person, I will try to grant his request."

"Oh! it isn't that, monsieur; this letter that I have brought is from monsieur your son."

"From my son?"

"Yes, monsieur; he handed it to me a few minutes ago, and said: 'If you don't see me again in two hours, take this letter to my father; but not before.'"

"What does it mean?"

"But his friend, the man who was with him, whispered to me: 'Go to Monsieur Vermoncey at once; there's to be a duel.'"

"A duel! O my God!"

Monsieur Vermoncey rose, took the letter from Paul's hand, and hastily ran his eyes over it.

"The unhappy boy!" he cried; "he says good-bye to me, asks me to forgive him for fighting. Ah! he must have determined to kill me too. But you say it was only a moment ago that Albert gave you this letter?"

"Yes, monsieur—out on the boulevard."

"Ah! then he shall not fight; I will stop this duel. O my God! my son, the last of my children! to lose him as well would be too horrible!"

Monsieur Vermoncey put on his hat and hastened downstairs, followed by Paul. When they were in the street, he looked anxiously at the messenger, and said:

"You know where this duel is to take place, do you not?"

"No, monsieur; they did not tell me that."

"What! his friend did not tell you?"

"No, I suppose he didn't think of it; and it didn't occur to me to ask him."

"What a misfortune! Where are we to go, then? where shall we find them?"

"One moment, monsieur; they were in a cab in front of the CafÉ de Paris; they have not gone to the Bois de Boulogne, for the cab drove away rapidly in the direction of Porte Saint-Denis."

"Then they must be at Vincennes; yes, that must be the place. We will go there. Isn't that a cab yonder? just call it."

"Yes, monsieur."

Paul ran to call the cab; Monsieur Vermoncey stepped in, and said to the messenger:

"Come with me, my friend; you must help me in my search."

"Gladly, monsieur; but I will get up behind."

"No, no, come in here, with me; you understand my suffering, I can see that. You will help me to find my son, to prevent a ghastly calamity. Come quickly!"

Paul stepped into the cab and seated himself beside Monsieur Vermoncey, who said to the driver:

"Twenty francs, forty francs, as much money as you want, if we are at the Forest of Vincennes in half an hour!"

The driver urged his horses to a gallop.