would have been to have sought out the notary and
provoked him by insults to send him a challenge.

That a clown such as that could have any chance of leaving the ground
alive never entered his head. But willingly as he would have encompassed
his death in this manner, the knowledge that his secret would not die
with Quennebert restrained him, for when everything came out he felt
that the notary's death would be regarded as an aggravation of his
original offence, and in spite of his rank he was not at all certain
that if he were put on his trial even now he would escape scot free,
much less if a new offence were added to the indictment. So, however
much he might chafe against the bit, he felt he must submit to the
bridle.

"By God!" said he, "I know what the clodhopper is after; and even if I
must suffer in consequence, I shall take good care that he cannot shake
off his bonds. Wait a bit! I can play the detective too, and be down on
him without letting him see the hand that deals the blows. It'll be a
wonder if I can't find a naked sword to suspend above his head."

However, while thus brooding over projects of vengeance, Commander de
Jars kept his word, and about a month after the interview above related
he sent word to Quennebert that the Chevalier de Moranges had left
Perregaud's completely recovered from his wound. But the nearly
fatal result of the chevalier's last prank seemed to have subdued
his adventurous spirit; he was no longer seen in public, and was soon
forgotten by all his acquaintances with the exception of Mademoiselle de
Guerchi. She faithfully treasured up the memory of his words of passion,
his looks of love, the warmth of his caresses, although at first she
struggled hard to chase his image from her heart. But as the Due de
Vitry assured her that he had killed him on the spot, she considered it
no breach of faith to think lovingly of the dead, and while she took
the goods so bounteously provided by her living lover, her gentlest
thoughts, her most enduring regrets, were given to one whom she never
hoped to see again.

CHAPTER VIII

With the reader's permission, we must now jump over an interval of
rather more than a year, and bring upon the stage a person who, though
only of secondary importance, can no longer be left behind the scenes.

We have already said that the loves of Quennebert and Madame Rapally
were regarded with a jealous eye by a distant cousin of the lady's late
husband.