uette to be observed in a duel, as
in a dinner; and you can no more hurry over one than the other, without
suffering for it afterwards. Maybe these are, however, the habits of the
country."

MacNaghten calmly assured him that they were not.

"Then the offence must have been an outrage,--what was it?"

"Some expression of gross insult; I forget the exact nature of it."

"Poor fellow!" said the other, sipping his wine, "with so much to live
for,--a magnificent chateau, a pretty wife, and a good fortune. What
folly, was it not?"

MacNaghten afterwards acknowledged that even the Grinder's sententious
dryness was preferable to the heartless indifference of the Frenchman's
manner; but a deferential regard for her whose relative he was,
restrained him from all angry expression of feeling on the subject, and
he suffered him to discuss the duel and all its consequences, without
the slightest evidence of the suffering it cost him.

"Josephine will not be sorry to leave it," said Gabriac, after a short
silence. "She told me that they never understood her, nor she them; and,
after all, you know," said he, smiling, "there is but one France!"

"And but one Ireland!" said MacNaghten, heartily.

"Heureusement!" muttered the Frenchman, but employing a word which,
happily, the other did not understand.

"Her state is one of great danger still," said Dan, alluding to my
mother.

"They say so; but that is always the way with doctors. One may die of
violent anger, rage, ungratified vengeance, jealousy, but not of mere
grief. Sorrow is rather a soothing passion,--don't you think so?"

Had MacNaghten been in the mood, he might have laughed at the remark,
but now it only irritated and incensed him; and to such an extent did
the heartless manner of the Frenchman grate upon his feelings that he
was in momentary danger of including my poor mother in the depreciatory
estimate he conceived of France and all that belonged to it. Nor was his
temper improved by the inquiries of Gabriac concerning the property
and estates of my father; in fact, unable any longer to continue a
conversation, every portion of which, was an outrage, he arose abruptly,
and, wishing him a good night, left the room.

"Poor Walter," said he, as he slowly sauntered along towards his
chamber, "is it to such as these your memory is to be intrusted, and
your name and fortune bequeathed?" And with this gloomy reflection he
threw himself upon his bed, to pass a sad and