He got up eventually and drove off, but he could eat no supper, no doubt because he had a blow to digest.  I was to have supped with him, but after this scene I had really not the face to go.  I went home in a melancholy and reflective mood, wondering whether the whole had been concerted; but I concluded that this was impossible, as neither Branicki nor Binetti could have foreseen the impoliteness and cowardice of Tomatis.

In the next chapter the reader will see how tragically the matter ended.

CHAPTER XXII

My Duel with Branicki—­My Journey to Leopol and Return to Warsaw—­I Receive the Order to Leave—­My Departure with the Unknown One

On reflection I concluded that Branicki had not done an ungentlemanly thing in getting into Tomatis’s carriage; he had merely behaved with impetuosity, as if he were the Catai’s lover.  It also appeared to me that, considering the affront he had received from the jealous Italian, the box on the ear was a very moderate form of vengeance.  A blow is bad, of course, but not so bad as death; and Branicki might very well have run his sword through the manager’s body.  Certainly, if Branicki had killed him he would have been stigmatised as an assassin, for though Tomatis had a sword the Polish officer’s servants would never have allowed him to draw it, nevertheless I could not help thinking that Tomatis should have tried to take the servant’s life, even at the risk of his own.  He wanted no more courage for that than in ordering the king’s favourite to come out of the carriage.  He might have foreseen that the Polish noble would be stung to the quick, and would surely attempt to take speedy vengeance.

The next day the encounter was the subject of all conversations.  Tomatis remained indoors for a week, calling for vengeance in vain.  The king told him he could do nothing for him, as Branicki maintained he had only given insult for insult.  I saw Tomatis, who told me in confidence that he could easily take vengeance, but that it would cost him too dear.  He had spent forty thousand ducats on the two ballets, and if he had avenged himself he would have lost it nearly all, as he would be obliged to leave the kingdom.  The only consolation he had was that his great friends were kinder to him than ever, and the king himself honoured him with peculiar attention.  Madame Binetti was triumphant.  When I saw her she condoled with me ironically on the mishap that had befallen my friend.  She wearied me; but I could not guess that Branicki had only acted at her instigation, and still less that she had a grudge against me.  Indeed, if I had known it, I should only have laughed at her, for I had nothing to dread from her bravo’s dagger.  I had never seen him nor spoken to him; he could have no opportunity for attacking me.  He was never with the king in the morning and never went to the palatin’s to supper, being an unpopular character with the Polish