Ernanton, however, could not forget the insult he had received, and he returned straight to the hotel.  He was naturally decided to infringe all orders and oaths, and to finish with St. Maline; he felt in the humor to fight ten men, if necessary.  This resolution sparkled in his eyes when he reached the door of the “Brave Chevalier.”  Madame Fournichon, who expected his return with anxiety, was standing trembling in the doorway.  At the sight of Ernanton she wiped her eyes, as if she had been crying, and throwing her arms round the young man’s neck, begged for his pardon, in spite of her husband’s representations that, as she had done no wrong, she had nothing to be pardoned for.  Ernanton assured her that he did not blame her at all—­that it was only her wine that was in fault.

While this passed at the door, all the rest were at table, where they were warmly discussing the previous quarrel.  Many frankly blamed St. Maline; others abstained, seeing the frowning brow of their comrade.  They did not attack with any less enthusiasm the supper of M. Fournichon, but they discussed as they ate.

“As for me,” said Hector de Bizan, “I know that M. de St. Maline was wrong, and that had I been Ernanton de Carmainges, M. de St. Maline would be at this moment stretched on the ground instead of sitting here.”

St. Maline looked at him furiously.

“Oh, I mean what I say,” continued he; “and stay, there is some one at the door who appears to agree with me.”

All turned at this, and saw Ernanton standing in the doorway, looking very pale.  He descended from the step, as the statue of the commander from his pedestal, and walked straight up to St. Maline, firmly, but quietly.

At this sight, several voices cried, “Come here, Ernanton; come this side, Carmainges; there is room here.”

“Thank you,” replied the young man; “but it is near M. de St. Maline that I wish to sit.”  St. Maline rose, and all eyes were fixed on him.  But as he rose, his face changed its expression.

“I will make room for you, monsieur,” said he, gently; “and in doing so address to you my frank and sincere apologies for my stupid aggression just now; I was drunk; forgive me.”

This declaration did not satisfy Ernanton; but the cries of joy that proceeded from all the rest decided him to say no more, although a glance at St. Maline showed him that he was not to be trusted.  St. Maline’s glass was full, and he filled Ernanton’s.

“Peace! peace!” cried all the voices.

Carmainges profited by the noise, and leaning toward St. Maline, with a smile on his lips, so that no one might suspect the sense of what he was saying, whispered: 

“M. de St. Maline, this is the second time that you have insulted me without giving me satisfaction; take care, for at the third offense I will kill you like a dog.”

And the two mortal enemies touched glasses as though they had been the best friends.