or the fifth time is
leading his charming _fiancee_ to the supper-room, when the venerable
butler announces, in a voice that attracts universal attention, a new
arrival.

"Monsieur le Marquis de Smellismelli!"

If possible the Marquis was more magnificently attired even than the
Duc, and went through the salutation with the easy grace of a man who
had often appeared in Court.

"Who is he?" asked every one.

"An old college friend," explained the Duc.

But his face was the colour of his handkerchief, and the place shook
with the trembling of his limbs.

The marquis quickly made himself at home, and vied with his host in his
eagerness to take the Donna Velvetina down to supper.

The Duc's face darkened visibly in proportion as that of his guest
beamed; and to those who looked on, it was evident that a scene was
imminent.

At length, when for the nineteenth time the lady accepted the arm of the
gallant marquis, the Duc ground his teeth, and stepping up to his rival,
pulled his nose.

The marquis in return flung the Duc the entire length of the apartments,
and with folded arms calmly awaited the result.

"We fight, Monsieur le Marquis," ground out the smarting Duc.

"Rather!" replied the marquis, with a proud smile.

Sub-Chapter VIII.

THE DUEL.

It was a tragic end in that night's gay scene.

Guests whose carriages were not ordered till 4 a.m. stood shivering in
the hall at 11 p.m.

Five hours to wait!

Meanwhile, on two special steamers the Duc de Septimominorelli and the
Marquis de Smellismelli sought the shore of France.

On the lonely sands between Calais and Ushant the rivals stood face to
face, at a hundred paces distance.

They had no seconds, so each loaded the other's weapon.

It could not have been the wind that made their knees tremble and their
teeth chatter, for there was none. Neither could it have been the
weight of the pistols which made their hands wave to and fro, for these
were Boxer's eight-ounce Maxim Repeaters.

No; these two men were the subjects of deep physical emotion. The
moment had come, and the Duc was about to drop his handkerchief, when
the Marquis abruptly folded his arms and said, "Excuse me, we have met
before, have we not? Ha, ha, Sep, my boy!"

At the sound of his voice, the so-called Duc flung his weapon two
hundred yards in the air, and with the bound of a hunted tiger buried
himself in the turmoil of the French capital.

There was no duel on those ye