He said to Camille:  “Where and when?  Our seconds will undertake the arrangement of the rest.”

“You mistake, monsieur, the motive of my visit,” replied M. Langis.  “I am grieved to destroy your illusions, but I did not come to arrange a meeting with you.”

“Do you refuse to give me satisfaction?”

“What satisfaction do I owe you?”

“You insulted me.”

“When?”

“And you said:  ’The day, the place, the weapons.  I leave all to your choice.’”

M. Langis could not refrain from smiling.  “Ah! you at last acknowledge that your fainting-fit was comedy?” he rejoined.

“Acknowledge on your part,” replied Samuel, “that you insult persons when you believe that they are not in a state to hear you.  Your courage likes to take the safe side.”

“Be reasonable,” replied Camille.  “I placed myself at Count Larinski’s disposal:  you cannot require me to fight with a Samuel Brohl!”

Samuel sprang to his feet; with fierce bearing and head erect he advanced to the young man, who awaited him unflinchingly, and whose resolute manner awed him.  He cast upon him a sinister look, turned, and reseated himself, bit his lips until the blood came; then said in a placid voice: 

“Will you do me the favour of telling me, monsieur, to what I owe the honour of this visit?”

“I came to demand of you a portrait that Mlle. Moriaz is desirous of having returned.”

“If I refuse to give it up, you will doubtless appeal to my delicacy?”

“Do you doubt it?” ironically replied Camille.

“That proves, monsieur, that you still believe in Count Larinski; that it is to him you speak at this moment?”

“You deceive yourself.  I came to see Samuel Brohl, who is a business-man, and it is a commercial transaction that I intend to hold with him.”  And drawing from his pocket a porte-monnaie, he added:  “You see I do not come empty-handed.”

Samuel settled himself in his arm-chair.  Half closing his eyes, he watched M. Langis through his eye-lashes.  A change passed over his features; his nose became more crooked, and his chin more pointed; he no longer resembled a lion, he was a fox.  His lips wore the sugared smile of a usurer, one who lays snares for the sons of wealthy families, and who scents out every favourable case.  If at this moment Jeremiah Brohl had seen him from the other world, he would have recognised his own flesh and blood.

He said at last to Camille:  “You are a man of understanding, monsieur; I am ready to listen to you.”

“I am very glad of it, and, to speak frankly, I had no doubts about it.  I knew you to be very intelligent, very much disposed to make the best of an unpleasant conjuncture.”

“Ah! spare my modesty.  I thank you for your excellent opinion of me; I should warn you that I am accused of being greedy after gain.  You will leave some of the feathers from your wings between my fingers.”