"He with one arm?" replied the latter. "I saw him once with reference
to a monument I put up at Saint Louis des Francais."

"He told me of it," said Dorsenne. "For one of your relatives, was it
not?"

"Oh, a distant cousin," replied Florent; "one Captain Chapron, killed in
'forty-nine in the trenches before Rome."

"Now, to our business," cried Dorsenne, rubbing his hands. "It is
Montfanon who must be your second. First of all, he is an experienced
duellist, while I have never been on the ground. That is very important.
You know the celebrated saying: 'It is neither swords nor pistols which
kill; it is the seconds.'.... And then if the matter has to be arranged,
he will have more prestige than your servant."

"It is impossible," said Florent; "Marquis de Montfanon.... He will
never consent. I do not exist for him."

"That is my affair," cried Dorsenne. "Let me take the necessary steps in
my own name, and then if he agrees you can make it in yours.... Only we
have no time to lose. Do not leave your house until six o'clock. By
that time I shall know upon what to depend."

If, at first, the novelist had felt great confidence in the issue of his
strange attempt with reference to his old friend, that confidence changed
to absolute apprehension when he found himself, half an hour later, at
the house which Marquis Claude Francois occupied in one of the oldest
parts of Rome, from which location he could obtain an admirable view of