out. He first called at an
armourer's and bought a small revolver, which he caused to be carefully
loaded under his own eyes, and put it into his pocket. He then called on
the different persons he supposed capable of informing him to what club
the viscount belonged. No one noticed the strange state of his mind, so
natural were his manners and conversations.

It was not until the afternoon that a young friend of his gave him the
name of Albert de Commarin's club, and offered to conduct him thither,
as he too was a member.

M. Daburon accepted warmly, and accompanied his friend. While passing
along, he grasped with frenzy the handle of the revolver which he kept
concealed, thinking only of the murder he was determined to commit, and
the means of insuring the accuracy of his aim.

"This will make a terrible scandal," thought he, "above all if I do not
succeed in blowing my own brains out. I shall be arrested, thrown
into prison, and placed upon my trial at the assizes. My name will be
dishonoured! Bah! what does that signify? Claire does not love me, so
what care I for all the rest? My father no doubt will die of grief, but
I must have my revenge!"

On arriving at the club, his friend pointed out a very dark young man,
with a haughty air, or what appeared so to him, who, seated at a table,
was reading a review. It was the viscount.

M. Daburon walked up to him without drawing his revolver. But when
within two paces, his heart failed him; he turned suddenly and fled,
leaving his friend astonished at a scene, to him, utterly inexplicable.

Only once again will Albert de Commarin be as near death.

On reaching the street, it seemed to M. Daburon that the ground was
receding from beneath him, that everything was turning around him. He
tried to cry out, but could not utter a sound; he struck at the air with
his hands, reeled for an instant, and then fell all of a heap on the
pavement.

The passers-by ran and assisted the police to raise him. In one of his
pockets they found his address, and carried him home. When he recovered
his senses, he was in his bed, at the foot of which he perceived his
father.

"What has happened?" he asked. With much caution they told him, that
for six weeks he had wavered between life and death. The doctors had
declared his life saved; and, now that reason was restored, all would go
well.

Five minutes' conversation exhausted him. He shut his eyes, and tried to
collect his ideas; but they