the night before, and had little sympathy with such spirited
talk so early in the day. His lack-luster gaze wandered to the
pictures on the wall, the duel between two court ladies for the
possession of the Duc de Richelieu and an old print of the deadly
public contest of Francois de Vivonne and Guy de Jarnac and then
strayed languidly to the other paraphernalia of a high-spirited
bachelor's rooms--foils, dueling pistols and masks--trappings that but
served to recall to the land baron his defeat.

"It would be like running against a stone wall," said the count,
finally; "demme if it wouldn't! He could have killed you!"

"Why didn't he do it, then?" demanded the land baron, fiercely.

The count shrugged his shoulders, drank his brandy, and handed the
bottle to his companion, who helped himself, as though not averse to
that sort of medicine for his physical and mental ailments.

"What's the news?" he asked abruptly, sinking back on his pillow.

"The levees are flooded."

"Hanged if I care if it's another deluge!" said Mauville. "I mean news
of the town, not news of the river."

"There's a new beauty come to town--a brunette; all the bloods are
talking about her. Where did she come from? Who is she? These are
some of the questions asked. But she's a Peri, at any rate! shy, hard
to get acquainted with--at first! An actress--Miss Carew!"

The glass trembled in the patroon's hand. "Do you know her?" he asked
unsteadily.

Smiling, the visitor returned the cane to his lips and gazed into
vacancy, as though communing with agreeable thoughts.

"I have met her," he said finally. "Yes; I may say I have met her.
Ged! Next to a duel with rapiers is one with eyes. They thrust at
you; you parry; they return, and, demme! you're stabbed! But don't ask
me any more--discretion--you understand--between men of the
world--demme!"--and the count relapsed into a vacuous dream.

"What a precious liar he is!" commented the land baron to himself. But
his mind soon reverted to the duel once more. "If I had only followed
Spedella's advice and studied his favorite parades!" he muttered,
regretfully.

"It would have been the same," retorted the count, brutally. "When you
lost your temper, you lost your cause. Your work was brilliant; but he
is one of the best swordsmen I ever saw. Who is he, anyway?"

"All I know is, he served in Algiers," said Mauville, moodily.

"A demmed adventurer, probably!" exclaimed the other.

"I'd give a goo