It was not until some moments later that they learned a portion of the
truth through the servants who had been on duty upstairs, and who now
ran down in great terror, crying that Madame d'Argeles was dying, and
that a physician must be summoned at once.

M. Wilkie was already far away, hastening up the boulevard with an agile
step. Any one else would have been overcome with shame and sorrow--would
have been frightened by the thought of what he had done, and have
striven to find some way to conceal his disgrace; but he, not in the
least. In this frightful crisis, he was only conscious of one fact--that
just as he raised his hand to strike Madame Lia d'Argeles, his mother, a
big, burly individual had burst into the room, like a bombshell, caught
him by the throat, forced him upon his knees, and compelled him to ask
the lady's pardon. He, Wilkie, to be humiliated in this style! He would
never endure that. This was an affront he could not swallow, one of
those insults that cry out for vengeance and for blood. "Ah! the great
brute shall pay for it," he repeated, again and again, grinding his
teeth. And if he hastened up the boulevard, it was only because he
hoped to meet his two chosen friends, M. Costard and the Viscount de
Serpillon, the co-proprietors of Pompier de Nanterre.

For he intended to place his outraged honor in their care. They should
be his seconds, and present his demand for satisfaction to the man
who had insulted him. A duel was the only thing that could appease his
furious anger and heal his wounded pride. And a great scandal, which he
would be the hero of, was not without a certain charm for him. What a
glorious chance to win notoriety at an epoch when newspapers have become
public laundries, in which every one washes his soiled linen and dries
it in the glare of publicity! He saw his already remarkable reputation
enhanced by the interest that always attaches to people who are talked
about, and he could hear in advance the flattering whisper which would
greet his appearance everywhere: "You see that young man?--he is the
hero of that famous adventure," etc. Moreover, he was already twisting
and turning the terms of the notice which his seconds must have inserted
in the Figaro, hesitating between two or three equally startling
beginnings: "Another famous duel," or "Yesterday, after a scandalous
scene, an encounter," etc., etc.

Unfortunately, he did not meet either M. Costard or the Viscount de
Serpil