In ten minutes the news of the insult offered to the Constitution Opposition and the Liberal party, in the supersacred person of its revered journal, which attacked priests with courage and the wit we all remember, spread throughout the town and into the houses like light itself; it was told and repeated from place to place.  One phrase was on everybody’s lips,—­

“Let us tell Max!”

Max soon heard of it.  The royalist officers were still at their game of dominos when that hero entered the cafe, accompanied by Major Potel and Captain Renard, and followed by at least thirty young men, curious to see the end of the affair, most of whom remained outside in the street.  The room was soon full.

“Waiter, my newspaper,” said Max, in a quiet voice.

Then a little comedy was played.  The fat hostess, with a timid and conciliatory air, said, “Captain, I have lent it!”

“Send for it,” cried one of Max’s friends.

“Can’t you do without it?” said the waiter; “we have not got it.”

The young royalists were laughing and casting sidelong glances at the new-comers.

“They have torn it up!” cried a youth of the town, looking at the feet of the young royalist captain.

“Who has dared to destroy that paper?” demanded Max, in a thundering voice, his eyes flashing as he rose with his arms crossed.

“And we spat upon it,” replied the three young officers, also rising, and looking at Max.

“You have insulted the whole town!” said Max, turning livid.

“Well, what of that?” asked the youngest officer.

With a dexterity, quickness, and audacity which the young men did not foresee, Max slapped the face of the officer nearest to him, saying,—­

“Do you understand French?”

They fought near by, in the allee de Frapesle, three against three; for Potel and Renard would not allow Max to deal with the officers alone.  Max killed his man.  Major Potel wounded his so severely, that the unfortunate young man, the son of a good family, died in the hospital the next day.  As for the third, he got off with a sword cut, after wounding his adversary, Captain Renard.  The battalion left for Bourges that night.  This affair, which was noised throughout Berry, set Max up definitely as a hero.

The Knights of Idleness, who were all young, the eldest not more than twenty-five years old, admired Maxence.  Some among them, far from sharing the prudery and strict notions of their families concerning his conduct, envied his present position and thought him fortunate.  Under such a leader, the Order did great things.  After the month of May, 1817, never a week passed that the town was not thrown into an uproar by some new piece of mischief.  Max, as a matter of honor, imposed certain conditions upon the Knights.  Statutes were drawn up.  These young demons grew as vigilant as the pupils of Amoros,—­bold as hawks,