s as well as figure,
he turned pale, and his effrontery for the moment left him. But it soon
came back, and he met Tournier's cruelly stern gaze with a look of
careless defiance. Tournier stopped in front of him.

"Colonel Fontenoy," he said, with the coldness of the grave: "my friend
here has something to say to you on my behalf."

The colonel began to speak; but Tournier at once silenced him.

"_I_ have nothing to say to you, sir," and passed on.

Then Villemet proceeded to execute his commission with all frigid
politeness and particularity. It is not worth while to relate what such
a man as Fontenoy said on the occasion. But the challenge was accepted.
The seconds were to arrange all the rest.

As the day drew near when, as Tournier learned, the colonel would again
be out on parole, he felt a strong desire to make his confession to the
bishop. There might be but a step between him and death. Besides, he
was not easy in his mind. He was not quite sure he was doing right in
thus seeking the life of his enemy.

So he sought and, as always, found a ready hearer in the chaplain. But
when he came to tell him what he contemplated doing, the good man looked
pained and surprised.

"And do you really think, my son, that the minister of God can forgive a
sin before it is committed? and that sin wilful murder?"

"Murder?"

"Yes, murder!"

"How can that be, when each has an equal chance?"

"Of committing murder!"

"There are many who fight duels."

"There are many who do wrong, my son."

"Then is killing in battle murder?"

"No, for it is not done in revenge. It is the motive that makes killing
murder. Your motive is revenge."

And then he went on to urge Tournier, for whom he had entertained the
tenderest regard, that he would give up his bloody intention, and leave
his enemy to God. He expostulated with him, used the most affectionate
entreaties, appealed to the authority of his holy office.

But all in vain. Tournier stoutly, but in the most respectful language,
refused to comply, and the bishop refused to grant him absolution.

But Tournier was most unhappy. Let those who remonstrate with another,
apparently in vain, remember to their comfort, that oftentimes the
remonstrance has not been entirely thrown away. The first blow of the
hammer does not drive home the nail, but it begins to do so.

One more evening before the fatal day: That evening he would spend with
his friends at the Manor