"No."

"Excuse my curiosity. The owner of Vange Abbey is an interesting person
to all good antiquaries like myself. Many thanks again. Good-day."

His pony-chaise took him away. His last look rested--not on me--but on
the old Abbey.

IX.

MY record of events approaches its conclusion.

On the next day we returned to the hotel in London. At Romayne's
suggestion, I sent the same evening to my own house for any letters
which might be waiting for me. His mind still dwelt on the duel; he was
morbidly eager to know if any communication had been received from the
French surgeon.

When the messenger returned with my letters, the Boulogne postmark was
on one of the envelopes. At Romayne's entreaty, this was the letter that
I opened first. The surgeon's signature was at the end.

One motive for anxiety--on my part--was set at rest in the first lines.
After an official inquiry into the circumstances, the French authorities
had decided that it was not expedient to put the survivor of the
duelists on his trial before a court of law. No jury, hearing the
evidence, would find him guilty of the only charge that could be
formally brought against him--the charge of "homicide by premeditation."
Homicide by misadventure, occurring in a duel, was not a punishable
offense by the French law. My correspondent cited many cases in proof