or not he possesses as much for the capital.”  This premier gentilhomme de France was proud of his want of reading, and used often to declare that the only two books he had ever skimmed were the wearisome Henriade of Voltaire and the frivolous Liaisons Dangereuses of Laclos.  No research, no analysis of character, can be found to explain the strange inconsistency by which M. de Montrond was, notwithstanding, entrusted by every government under which he lived with the most important secrets, the most serious negotiations—­sent abroad to stay revolutions, summoned home to remodel constitutions, and consulted on every point as though he had spent his whole life in the study of Montesquieu or Colbert.  Such was the moral life of the man pronounced the premier gentilhomme de France by the fathers and grandfathers of the present generation.

Let us glance at the physical side of his existence—­the outward and visible sign of the distinctive title with which he was honored.  M. de Montrond began his career by the study of arms, wine, women and dice—­which constituted the accomplishments necessary for a gentleman of the period—­in the regiment of Royal Flanders.  Theodore Lamette was his first colonel, Douai his first garrison-town.  Soon after his arrival there every man in the place became his devoted friend, every woman his willing slave, and every tradesman his ready creditor.  It so happened that a detachment of Royal Cravattes had sought temporary quarters in the same town; and among the officers was a certain Comte de Champagne, a great duelist and gamester.  From this man, by some good fortune, over which a veil has always been thrown by Montrond’s friends, he won a considerable sum, and on finding, after suffering a considerable time to elapse, that no sign of payment was made, he proclaimed his intention of taking steps—­not according, but in opposition, to the law—­in order to obtain his due.  Montrond knew himself to be a wretched swordsman, and therefore resolved at once to replace his want of skill by audacity.  He sent his servant to the stable where four-and-twenty goodly steeds belonging to the Count de Champagne were champing their oats in all security, with orders to carry them off and leave in lieu of the magnificent animals a message to the effect that M. de Montrond would sell the stud to pay himself, and hand over the balance to the Count de Champagne.  In a few hours, as he had expected, he was called to the field, and presented himself before the great duelist with a phlegmatic humor which completely upset the count’s own self-possession.  Montrond was hit hard at the first lunge.  He had intended to be; and the result has become historical in the annals of dueling.  He had been pierced in the breast by his adversary’s sword, and was evidently thought by the latter to have received his death-wound.  In token of this belief the Count de Champagne lowered his weapon, and then M. de Montrond, making one desperate thrust, drove his sword right through his adversary’s heart.  The Count de Champagne fell dead without a cry, without a struggle.  Then M. de Montrond rose covered with glory and with honor, for in such adventures lay the fame of the gentilhommes of that time.