“Are you M. Chardon?” It was Michel who spoke, and there was that in the sound of his voice that set Lucien’s heartstrings vibrating.

“Do you not know me?” he asked, turning very pale.

Michel spat in his face.

“Take that as your wages for your article against d’Arthez.  If everybody would do as I do on his own or his friend’s behalf, the press would be as it ought to be—­a self-respecting and respected priesthood.”

Lucien staggered back and caught hold of Rastignac.

“Gentlemen,” he said, addressing Rastignac and de Marsay, “you will not refuse to act as my seconds.  But first, I wish to make matters even and apology impossible.”

He struck Michel a sudden, unexpected blow in the face.  The rest rushed in between the Republican and Royalist, to prevent a street brawl.  Rastignac dragged Lucien off to the Rue Taitbout, only a few steps away from the Boulevard de Gand, where this scene took place.  It was the hour of dinner, or a crowd would have assembled at once.  De Marsay came to find Lucien, and the pair insisted that he should dine with them at the Cafe Anglais, where they drank and made merry.

“Are you a good swordsman?” inquired de Marsay.

“I have never had a foil in my hands.”

“A good shot?”

“Never fired a pistol in my life.”

“Then you have luck on your side.  You are a formidable antagonist to stand up to; you may kill your man,” said de Marsay.

Fortunately, Lucien found Coralie in bed and asleep.

She had played without rehearsal in a one-act play, and taken her revenge.  She had met with genuine applause.  Her enemies had not been prepared for this step on her part, and her success had determined the manager to give her the heroine’s part in Camille Maupin’s play.  He had discovered the cause of her apparent failure, and was indignant with Florine and Nathan.  Coralie should have the protection of the management.

At five o’clock that morning, Rastignac came for Lucien.

“The name of your street my dear fellow, is particularly appropriate for your lodgings; you are up in the sky,” he said, by way of greeting.  “Let us be first upon the ground on the road to Clignancourt; it is good form, and we ought to set them an example.”

“Here is the programme,” said de Marsay, as the cab rattled through the Faubourg Saint-Denis:  “You stand up at twenty-five paces, coming nearer, till you are only fifteen apart.  You have, each of you, five paces to take and three shots to fire—­no more.  Whatever happens, that must be the end of it.  We load for your antagonist, and his seconds load for you.  The weapons were chosen by the four seconds at a gunmaker’s.  We helped you to a chance, I will promise you; horse pistols are to be the weapons.”