Eusebe, upon quitting the cabinet of the magistrate, rejoined his two friends, who were glad to learn that the affair of the duel would be dropped. All three then returned to Paris.

AdÉonne fairly wept with joy on seeing Eusebe return. But, while the cantatrice did not try to conceal her delight, the provincial seemed abstracted, and paid little attention to this evidence of affection.

On the following morning, Eusebe arose at an early hour, hastily completed his toilet, and left the house, much to the astonishment of AdÉonne, who did not venture to interrogate him as to the cause of his hasty departure.

“He did not close his eyes during the night,” said she to herself, “and he leaves me at this early hour. What can be the matter with him, and where is he going?”

Eusebe had taken but a few steps when he returned, as if he had forgotten something. After embracing his mistress, he said,—

“AdÉonne, my sweet queen, do you know what duty is?”

“Certainly I do.”

“Well?”

“My duty,” replied the comÉdienne, “consists in not being hissed off the stage, and in being faithful to the man I love,—to you, my dear Eusebe.”

“Then the duty of a woman is not like that of a man.”

“The same precisely. Your duty is to love me as I love you.”

Eusebe then left the house, and directed his steps towards the residence of Clamens. When he entered the apartment of the poet, he found him snoring in a most unpoetical manner.

“My friend,” said Eusebe, “I ask pardon for disturbing you at so early an hour, but there is an important question I wish to have answered. Have the goodness to tell me what duty is.”

Daniel opened his eyes with difficulty, stared at his provincial visitor for a moment, and then responded,—

“As for me, my duty is to get a piece in five acts accepted at the ThÉÂtre FranÇais.”

So saying, he turned his face to the wall, and was soon snoring as vigorously as ever. Eusebe departed, and, not long afterwards, ascended to the attic apartment of Paul Buck, the painter.

“Welcome!” exclaimed the artist, upon the entrance of his provincial friend. “Happiness has again taken up her abode under my roof. Gredinette has returned, and I have pardoned her. You are about to censure me,—to tell me that I have been weak. But could I do otherwise? My happiness is attached to the ribbons of her bonnet. Besides, why should not clemency, which is a virtue in kings, be exercised by artists?”

“Who could blame you for seeking to be happy? Not I, assuredly. My visit here has quite another purpose.”

“Ah?”

“I wish you to tell me what duty is.”

“Duty is the only thing that Gredinette ignores.”

“Your definition is very vague.”

“Duty! Oh, there are many interpretations of the word.”

“Give me the best.”

“In my opinion, the duty of a man is to smoke his pipe in peace under the eye of Heaven, and to do no wrong to his neighbor.”

“Thank you,” was the sole response of Eusebe, as he abruptly quitted his artist friend.

Once more in the street, the poor provincial strolled about, at the mercy of chance, more embarrassed and perplexed than ever. The sight of the old store of Lansade, before which he passed, reminded him of the honest merchant who had assisted him in an emergency of a more serious character. He decided to go at once to Lansade and ask his advice. On the way he met the stage-manager of the theatre, who saluted him politely.

“M. Sainval,” said Eusebe, hurrying towards him, “you can perhaps save me a long walk.”

“I am at your service.”

“Please explain to me what you understand by duty.”

“That is very easy, M. Martin. My duty is to first please the director, then the public.”

“Thank you,” said Eusebe; and he continued his walk.

On reaching Viroflay, the young man had great difficulty in recognizing the house he went to seek. The garden was no longer there,—the space being filled with boxes and packages. The house, formerly so white and neat, had become gray, and the walls were nearly covered by the gigantic letters of a sign, reading as follows:—

F. B. LANSADE,

Formerly of the Boulevard Saint-Denis, at Paris.

DEPOT OF PORCELAIN AND CRYSTAL,

THE BEST IN FRANCE.

MANUFACTURED FOR EXPORT.

A man, wearing a blue blouse, his brow dropping perspiration, appeared before the astonished provincial.

“Ah! M. Martin,” he exclaimed, “is this indeed you? I did not expect to see you again. I thought you had left Paris. I have often intended to inquire for you, but I am so busy when I go to the city that I have not a minute to spare.”

“You have then resumed business?” asked Eusebe.

“Oh, no; far from it. I was so fortunate as to acquire enough to satisfy my modest desires; I live now quite at my ease. Now and then, ’tis true, I do a little something in the way of trade, just to kill time.”

“One would suppose to see your house that it had been turned into a factory.”

“Would you not? But such is by no means the case. I furnish a few of the merchants in the neighborhood: indeed, I sell almost as much as I did in Paris. This is the only pastime I have. Formerly I employed a salesman and a porter; now I am entirely alone. To tell the truth, I do the work of four; but, you know, it is necessary for a man to be occupied.”

Without taking any further notice of his visitor, Lansade resumed his work among the glass and porcelain. After a few moments he said,—

“Sans cÉrÉmonie, M. Martin. Of course you remain to breakfast.”

“Thank you,” said Eusebe: “it is absolutely necessary that I should be at Versailles before noon. I came to ask a favor.”

A sudden change of expression was visible in Lansade’s features, and it was evident that he felt uncomfortable.

“I should be glad,” continued the young man, “if you would tell me in what, in your opinion, duty consists.”

“That is very easy, M. Martin,” replied the porcelain-merchant, his features resuming their usual expression. “Duty consists in working when one is young, in always honoring one’s signature, and in giving way to others when one has acquired a sufficiency.”

Eusebe then took leave of the merchant.

“I hope to see you again, M. Martin,” said Lansade. “Come breakfast with me one of these days. Let it be some Sunday.”

The weather was fine; the shrubbery along the road was in bloom. Eusebe, who had not seen the country for a long time, felt, in spite of his preoccupation, the reviving influence of natural beauty, and resolved to pursue his journey afoot.

“I have done wrong,” said he, “in questioning all these people, each of whom regards duty from a different point of view. The only man who can give me any light on the subject is the honorable magistrate, who kindly pointed out my error in living without an object.”

An hour afterwards, the young man knocked at the door of M. de la Varade, who, unfortunately, was absent. A servant conducted the visitor into the magistrate’s study, and asked him to await the return of the master of the house.

Eusebe had waited for something more than ten minutes, and, becoming impatient, was about to retire, when among the books on the table he observed a dictionary.

“Ah!” thought he, “I was sure that here my expectations would be realized. Now I shall certainly find what I seek.”

He turned over the leaves of the dictionary, and found,—

“Duty.—Subst. That which conscience, reason, law, or custom demands that one should do.”

Eusebe dropped the book, with an expression of bitter disappointment.

“Now,” thought he, “I am more perplexed than ever; since the things which law and custom oblige one to do are directly contrary to those dictated by conscience and reason.”

Eusebe was absorbed in reflection, when a young lady, with a sparkling eye, appeared at the door of the study. It was Madame de la Varade.

“My husband,” said she, “told me that he would not return until late in the day. I regret that you have been kept waiting uselessly.”

“And I, madame, regret having disturbed you.”

“Will you oblige me with your name?”

“Eusebe Martin.”

The wives of magistrates generally know more about any matters of interest that are transacted at their husbands’ offices than the procureur-gÉnÉral. M. de la Varade had related to his wife the particulars of the late duel, and imparted to her the curiosity he felt in regard to the young man who possessed the love of a woman comparatively celebrated. After a protracted silence, Madame de la Varade observed,—

“If you are particularly desirous to speak to my husband, and wish to await his return——”

“No, madame,” interrupted Eusebe, “I have nothing of importance to say to Monsieur de la Varade. Yesterday he was so kind as to give me some good advice. But, unfortunately, I did not entirely comprehend his meaning; and to-day I have come to beg him to define a word which he said was the religion of society.”

“And what is the word?”

“Duty.”

Madame de la Varade burst into a laugh,—which enabled Eusebe to note that she had pearly teeth and rosy lips.

“And so, monsieur, it is for this you have come all the way from Paris?”

“Yes, madame.”

“Well, I can satisfy you.”

“I shall be very grateful for the favor, indeed, madame.”

“You have, doubtless, heard of the ancient Hydra?”

“But,” stammered the provincial, “I thought that was a fabulous monster.”

“Precisely so:—a vile beast, with seven heads. If one were cut off, seven others appeared in its stead. Monsieur, duty is a moral monster. While you may accomplish one, seven others will rise to demand your attention.”