my friends! I ask permission to propose the first toast."

"He said MY FRIENDS, don't fill your glass," whispered Renard to Max.
Max poured out some wine.

"To the Grand Army!" cried Philippe, with genuine enthusiasm.
"To the Grand Army!" was repeated with acclamation by every voice.

At this moment eleven private soldiers, among whom were Benjamin and
Kouski, appeared at the door of the room and repeated the toast,--

"To the Grand Army!"
"Come in, my sons; we are going to drink His health."

The old soldiers came in and stood behind the officers.
"You see He is not dead!" said Kouski to an old sergeant, who had

perhaps been grieving that the Emperor's agony was over.
"I claim the second toast," said Mignonnet, as he rose. "Let us drink

to those who attempted to restore his son!"
Every one present, except Maxence Gilet, bowed to Philippe Bridau, and

stretched their glasses towards him.
"One word," said Max, rising.

"It is Max! it is Max!" cried voices outside; and then a deep silence
reigned in the room and in the street, for Gilet's known character

made every one expect a taunt.
"May we ALL meet again at this time next year," said Max, bowing

ironically to Philippe.
"It's coming!" whispered Kouski to his neighbor.

"The Paris police would never allow a banquet of this kind," said
Potel to Philippe.

"Why do the devil to you mention the police to Colonel Bridau?" said
Maxence insolently.

"Captain Potel--HE--meant no insult," said Philippe, smiling coldly.
The stillness was so profound that the buzzing of a fly could have

been heard if there had been one.
"The police were sufficiently afraid of me," resumed Philippe, "to

send me to Issoudun,--a place where I have had the pleasure of meeting
old comrades, but where, it must be owned, there is a dearth of

amusement. For a man who doesn't despise folly, I'm rather restricted.
However, it is certainly economical, for I am not one of those to whom

feather-beds give incomes; Mariette of the Grand Opera cost me
fabulous sums."

"Is that remark meant for me, my dear colonel?" asked Max, sending a
glance at Philippe which was like a current of electricity.

"Take it as you please," answered Bridau.
"Colonel, my two friends here, Renard and Potel, will call to-morrow

on--"
"--on Mignonnet and Carpentier," answered Philippe, cutting short

Max's sentence, and motioning towards his two neighbors.
"Now," said Max, "let us go on with the toasts."

The two adversaries had not raised their voices above the tone of
ordinary conversation; there was nothing solemn in the affair except

the dead silence in which it took place.
"Look here, you others!" cried Philippe, addressing the soldiers who

stood behind the officers; "remember that our affairs don't concern
the bourgeoisie--not a word, therefore, on what goes on here. It is

for the Old Guard only."
"They'll obey orders, colonel," said Renard. "I'll answer for them."

"Long live His little one! May he reign over France!" cried Potel.
"Death to Englishmen!" cried Carpentier.

That toast was received with prodigious applause.
"Shame on Hudson Lowe," said Captain Renard.

The dessert passed off well; the libations were plentiful. The
antagonists and their four seconds made it a point of honor that a

duel, involving so large a fortune, and the reputation of two men
noted for their courage, should not appear the result of an ordinary

squabble. No two gentlemen could have behaved better than Philippe and
Max; in this respect the anxiouswaiting of the young men and

townspeople grouped about the market-place was balked. All the guests,
like true soldiers, kept silence as to the episode which took place at

dessert. At ten o'clock that night the two adversaries were informed
that the sabre was the weapon agreed upon by the seconds; the place

chosen for the rendezvous was behind the chancel of the church of the
Capuchins at eight o'clock the next morning. Goddet, who was at the

banquet in his quality of former army surgeon, was requested to be
present at the meeting. The seconds agreed that, no matter what might

happen, the combat should last only ten minutes.
At eleven o'clock that night, to Colonel Bridau's amazement, Monsieur

Hochon appeared at his rooms just as he was going to bed, escorting
Madame Hochon.

"We know what has happened," said the old lady, with her eyes full of
tears, "and I have come to entreat you not to leave the house to-

morrow morning without saying your prayers. Lift your soul to God!"
"Yes, madame," said Philippe, to whom old Hochon made a sign from

behind his wife's back.
"That is not all," said Agathe's godmother. "I stand in the place of

your poor mother, and I divest myself, for you, of a thing which I
hold most precious,--here," she went on, holding towards Philippe a

tooth, fastened upon a piece of black velvet embroidered in gold, to
which she had sewn a pair of green strings. Having shown it to him,

she replaced it in a little bag. "It is a relic of Sainte Solange, the
patron saint of Berry," she said, "I saved it during the Revolution;

wear it on your breast to-morrow."
"Will it protect me from a sabre-thrust?" asked Philippe.

"Yes," replied the old lady.
"Then I have no right to wear that accoutrement any more than if it

were a cuirass," cried Agathe's son.
"What does he mean?" said Madame Hochon.

"He says it is not playing fair," answered Hochon.
"Then we will say no more about it," said the old lady, "I shall pray

for you."
"Well, madame, prayer--and a good point--can do no harm," said

Philippe, making a thrust as if to pierce Monsieur Hochon's heart.
The old lady kissed the colonel on his forehead. As she left the

house, she gave thirty francs--all the money she possessed--to
Benjamin, requesting him to sew the relic into the pocket of his

master's trousers. Benjamin did so,--not that he believed in the
virtue of the tooth, for he said his master had a much better talisman

than that against Gilet, but because his conscience constrained him to
fulfil a commission for which he had been so liberally paid. Madame

Hochon went home full of confidence in Saint Solange.
At eight o'clock the next morning, December third, the weather being

cloudy, Max, accompanied by his seconds and the Pole, arrived on the
little meadow which then surrounded the apse of the church of the

Capuchins. There he found Philippe and his seconds, with Benjamin,
waiting for him. Potel and Mignonnet paced off twenty-four feet; at

each extremity, the two attendants drew a line on the earth with a
spade: the combatants were not allowed to retreat beyond that line, on

pain of being thought cowardly. Each was to stand at his own line, and
advance as he pleased when the seconds gave the word.

"Do we take off our coats?" said Philippe to his adversary coldly.
"Of course," answered Maxence, with the assumption of a bully.

They did so; the rosy tints of their skin appearing through the
cambric of their shirts. Each, armed with a cavalry sabre selected of

equal weight, about three pounds, and equal length, three feet, placed
himself at his own line, the point of his weapon on the ground,

awaiting the signal. Both were so calm that, in spite of the cold,
their muscles quivered no more than if they had been made of iron.

Goddet, the four seconds, and the two soldiers felt an involuntary
admiration.

"They are a proud pair!"
The exclamation came from Potel.

Just as the signal was given, Max caught sight of Fario's sinister
face looking at them through the hole which the Knights of Idleness

had made for the pigeons in the roof of the church. Those eyes, which
sent forth streams of fire, hatred, and revenge, dazzled Max for a

moment. The colonel went straight to his adversary, and put himself on