broke off, “a meeting has been arranged for four o'clock at St. Germain.”
“A meeting!” I exclaimed.
“What else? Do you think the affront left any alternative?”
“But—”
“Yes, yes, I know,” he interrupted, tossing his head. “I am going to be killed. Verville has sworn that there shall be one less of the Italian brood. That is why I have come to you, Luynes—to ask you to be my second. I don't deserve it, perhaps. In my folly last night I did you an ill turn. I unwittingly caused you to be stripped of your commission. But if I were on my death-bed now, and begged a favour of you, you would not refuse it. And what difference is there 'twixt me and one who is on his death-bed? Am I not about to die?”
“Peste! I hope not,” I made answer with more lightness than I felt. “But I'll stand by you with all my heart, Andrea.”
“And you'll avenge me?” he cried savagely, his Southern blood a-boiling. “You'll not let him leave the ground alive?”
“Not unless my opponent commits the indiscretion of killing me first. Who seconds M. de Canaples?”
“The Marquis de St. Auban and M. de Montmédy.”
“And who is the third in our party?”
“I have none. I thought that perhaps you had a friend.”
“I! A friend?” I laughed bitterly. “Pshaw, Andrea! beggars have no friends. But stay; find Stanislas de Gouville. There is no better blade in Paris. If he will join us in this frolic, and you can hold off Canaples until either St. Auban or Montmédy is disposed of, we may yet leave the three of them on the field of battle. Courage, Andrea! Dum spiramus, speramus.”
My words seemed to cheer him, and when presently he left me to seek out the redoubtable Gouville, the poor lad's face was brighter by far than when he had entered my room.
Down in my heart, however, I was less hopeful than I had led him to believe, and as I dressed after he had gone, 't was not without some uneasiness that I turned the matter over in my mind. I
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