“So my dishonor is the talk of all Paris and London!” groaned the duke, dropping his head upon his chest.  “If all the civilization of the nineteenth century had power to stay my arm in its vengeance, it has lost it now!  And nothing is left for me to do but to kill the man and divorce the woman.”

There was a certain Colonel Morris, of the Tenth Hussars, staying at Paris on leave.

The duke sat down at his writing-table and dashed off a hasty note to this compatriot, asking him to come to him immediately.

Then he rang the bell and gave the note to his own groom, saying: 

“Take this to Colonel Morris, at the Trois Freres, and wait an answer.”

The man took the message, bowed and hurried away.

The duke sank back in his chair with a deep sigh, and covered his face with his hands, and so awaited the return of his messenger.

Half an hour crept slowly by, and then the groom came back, opened the door, and announced: 

“Colonel Morris.”

The gallant colonel entered the room, looking as little like the dead shot and notorious duellist he was reported to be, as any fine gentleman could.

He was a tall, slight, fair and refined looking young man, exquisite in dress, soft in speech, and suave in manners.

“You have guessed the reason why I have sent for you, Morris?” said the duke, advancing to meet him, and plunging into the middle of his subject.

“Yes,” murmured the colonel, sinking into the seat his host silently offered him.

“You can go, Tompkins.  I will ring when I want you,” said the duke, throwing himself into his own chair.

When the man had bowed himself out, and the duke and his visitor were left alone, the former said: 

“You know why I have sent for you here.  Now what do you advise?”

“You must blow out the man’s brains and break the woman’s heart,” softly and sweetly replied the dandy duellist.

“The question arises whether the man has any brains to blow out, or the woman any heart to break,” grimly commented the duke.  “However,” he added, “you are right, Morris, I must kill the man—­divorce the woman.  You are with me?”

“To the death,” answered the elegant, in the same easy tone in which he ever uttered even the most ferocious words.

“You will take my challenge?”

“With much pleasure.”

“I wonder where the fellow is to be found.  At the Russian Embassy, I suppose,” observed the duke, as he turned to his writing-table.

“No, not there.  The Count de Volaski has withdrawn or been dismissed from the Embassy.  It is not certainly known which.  He is, meanwhile, at the Trois Freres.  He has the honor of being my fellow-lodger,” suavely observed the colonel.

“There,” said the duke, as he folded and directed his note, “no time should be lost in an affair of this sort.  It is not yet ten o’clock.  You may even deliver this challenge to-night, if you will be so kind.”