es unsheathed before long," said an old sub-lieutenant,
who cultivated a kitchen-garden in the upper Baltan. "If Monsieur
Maxence Gilet committed the folly of going to live under old Rouget's
roof, he would be a coward if he allowed himself to be turned off like a
valet without asking why."

"Of course," said Mignonnet dryly. "A folly that doesn't succeed becomes
a crime."

At this moment Max joined the old soldiers of Napoleon, and was received
in significant silence. Potel and Renard each took an arm of their
friend, and walked about with him, conversing. Presently Philippe was
seen approaching in full dress; he trailed his cane after him with an
imperturbable air which contrasted with the forced attention Max was
paying to the remarks of his two supporters. Bridau's hand was grasped
by Mignonnet, Carpentier, and several others. This welcome, so different
from that accorded to Max, dispelled the last feeling of cowardice, or,
if you prefer it, wisdom, which Flore's entreaties, and above all, her
tendernesses, had awakened in the latter's mind.

"We shall fight," he said to Renard, "and to the death. Therefore don't
talk to me any more; let me play my part well."

After these words, spoken in a feverish tone, the three Bonapartists
returned to the group of officers and mixed among them. Max bowed first
to Bridau, who returned his bow, and the two exchanged a frigid glance.

"Come, gentlemen, let us take our seats," said Potel.

"And drink to the health of the Little Corporal, who is now in the
paradise of heroes," cried Renard.

The company poured into the long, low dining-hall of the restaurant
Lacroix, the windows of which opened on the market-place. Each guest
took his seat at the table, where, in compliance with Philippe's
request, the two adversaries were placed directly opposite to each
other. Some young men of the town, among them several Knights of
Idleness, anxious to know what might happen at the banquet, were
walking about the street and discussing the critical position into
which Philippe had contrived to force Max. They all deplored the crisis,
though each considered the duel to be inevitable.

Everything went off well until the dessert, though the two antagonists
displayed, in spite of the apparent joviality of the dinner, a certain
vigilance that resembled disquietude. While waiting for the quarrel
that both were planning, Philippe showed admirable coolness, and Max a
distracting gayety; but to