Thus perished a man destined to do great deeds had he lived his life amid environments which were suited to him; a man treated by Nature as a favorite child, for she gave him courage, self-possession, and the political sagacity of a Cesar Borgia.  But education had not bestowed upon him that nobility of conduct and ideas without which nothing great is possible in any walk of life.  He was not regretted, because of the perfidy with which his adversary, who was a worse man than he, had contrived to bring him into disrepute.  His death put an end to the exploits of the Order of Idleness, to the great satisfaction of the town of Issoudun.  Philippe therefore had nothing to fear in consequence of the duel, which seemed almost the result of divine vengeance:  its circumstances were related throughout that whole region of country, with unanimous praise for the bravery of the two combatants.

“But they had better both have been killed,” remarked Monsieur Mouilleron; “it would have been a good riddance for the Government.”

The situation of Flore Brazier would have been very embarrassing were it not for the condition into which she was thrown by Max’s death.  A brain-fever set in, combined with a dangerous inflammation resulting from her escapade to Vatan.  If she had had her usual health, she might have fled the house where, in the room above her, Max’s room, and in Max’s bed, lay and suffered Max’s murderer.  She hovered between life and death for three months, attended by Monsieur Goddet, who was also attending Philippe.

As soon as Philippe was able to hold a pen, he wrote the following letters:—­

  To Monsieur Desroches: 

I have already killed the most venomous of the two reptiles; not however without getting my own head split open by a sabre; but the rascal struck with a dying hand.  The other viper is here, and I must come to an understanding with her, for my uncle clings to her like the apple of his eye.  I have been half afraid the girl, who is devilishly handsome, might run away, and then my uncle would have followed her; but an illness which seized her suddenly has kept her in bed.  If God desired to protect me, he would call her soul to himself, now, while she is repenting of her sins.  Meantime, on my side I have, thanks to that old trump, Hochon, the doctor of Issoudun, one named Goddet, a worthy soul who conceives that the property of uncles ought to go to nephews rather than to sluts.

Monsieur Hochon has some influence on a certain papa Fichet, who is rich, and whose daughter Goddet wants as a wife for his son:  so the thousand francs they have promised him if he mends up my pate is not the chief cause of his devotion.  Moreover, this Goddet, who was formerly head-surgeon to the 3rd regiment of the line, has been privately advised by my staunch friends, Mignonnet and Carpentier; so he is now playing the hypocrite with his other patient.  He says to Mademoiselle Brazier, as