journ directly to the railway. M.
Stanislas Kapp had positively declined to make excuses, and he, on his
side, obviously, had none to offer. Valentin had found out with whom he
was dealing. M. Stanislas Kapp was the son of and heir of a rich brewer
of Strasbourg, a youth of a sanguineous--and sanguinary--temperament.
He was making ducks and drakes of the paternal brewery, and although he
passed in a general way for a good fellow, he had already been observed
to be quarrelsome after dinner. "Que voulez-vous?" said Valentin.
"Brought up on beer, he can't stand champagne." He had chosen pistols.
Valentin, at dinner, had an excellent appetite; he made a point, in view
of his long journey, of eating more than usual. He took the liberty
of suggesting to Newman a slight modification in the composition of a
certain fish-sauce; he thought it would be worth mentioning to the
cook. But Newman had no thoughts for fish-sauce; he felt thoroughly
discontented. As he sat and watched his amiable and clever companion
going through his excellent repast with the delicate deliberation of
hereditary epicurism, the folly of so charming a fellow traveling off
to expose his agreeable young life for the sake of M. Stanislas and
Mademoiselle Noemie struck him with intolerable force. He had grown fond
of Valentin, he felt now how fond; and his sense of helplessness only
increased his irritation.

"Well, this sort of thing may be all very well," he cried at last, "but
I declare I don't see it. I can't stop you, perhaps, but at least I can
protest. I do protest, violently."

"My dear fellow, don't make a scene," said Valentin. "Scenes in these
cases are in very bad taste."

"Your duel itself is a scene," said Newman; "that's all it is! It's a
wretched theatrical affair. Why don't you take a band of music with you
outright? It's d--d barbarous and it's d--d corrupt, both."

"Oh, I can't begin, at this time of day, to defend the theory of
dueling," said Valentin. "It is our custom, and I think it is a good
thing. Quite apart from the goodness of the cause in which a duel may
be fought, it has a kind of picturesque charm which in this age of
vile prose seems to me greatly to recommend it. It's a remnant of a
higher-tempered time; one ought to cling to it. Depend upon it, a duel
is never amiss."

"I don't know what you mean by a higher-tempered time," said Newman.
"Because your great-grandfather was an ass, is that any reason why you
should be? Fo