"Who knows?" replied Samuel, suddenly changing his countenance and
attitude. And he added, "If you are fond of being astonished, monsieur,
will you remain still another instant in this den?"

He rolled and twisted the twenty-five one-thousand-franc notes into
lamp-lighters; then, with a grand gesture, _a la Poniatowski_, he
approached the candle, held them in the flame until they blazed, and
then threw them on the hearth, where they were soon consumed.

Turning towards M. Langis, he cried, "Will you now do me the honour of
fighting with me?"

"After such a noble act as that, I can refuse you nothing," returned
Camille. "I will do you that signal honour."

"Just what I desire," replied Samuel. "I am the offended; I have the
choice of arms." And, in showing M. Langis out, he said, "I will not
conceal from you that I have frequented the shooting-galleries, and that
I am a first-class pistol-shot."

Camille bowed and went out.

The next day, in a lucid interval, Mlle. Moriaz saw at the foot of
her bed a medallion laid on a red hood. From that moment the physician
announced an improvement in her symptoms.

CHAPTER XII

Six days after these events, Samuel Brohl, having passed through
Namur and Liege without stopping at either place, arrived by rail at
Aix-la-Chapelle. He went directly to the Hotel Royal, close to the
railroad-station; he ordered a hearty dinner to be served him, which he
washed down with foaming champagne. He had an excellent appetite; his
soul kept holiday; his heart was expanded, inflated with joy, and his
brain intoxicated. He had revenged himself; he had meted out justice to
that insolent fellow, his rival. Mlle. Moriaz did not belong to
Samuel Brohl, but she never would belong to Camille Langis. Near the
Franco-Belgian frontier, on the verge of a forest, a man had been shot
in the breast; Samuel Brohl had seen him fall; and some one had cried,
"He is dead!" It is asserted that Aix-la-Chapelle is a very dull city,
that the very dogs suffer so sadly from ennui that they piteously beg
passers-by to kick them, with a view to having a little excitement.
Samuel never felt one moment's ennui during the evening that he spent
in Charlemagne's city. He had constantly in mind a certain spot in a
forest, and a man falling; and he experienced a thrill of delight.

After the champagne, he drank punch, an after that he slept like a
dormouse; unfortunately, sleep dissipated his exhilaration, and when h