“I,” exclaimed Montfanon, “I, you wish me to be—­”

“One of Chapron’s seconds,” interrupted Dorsenne.  “Yes.  It is true.  I come on his part and for that.  Do not tell me what I already know, that your position will not allow of such a step.  It is because it is what it is, that I thought of coming to you.  Do not tell me that your religious principles are opposed to duels.  It is that there may be no duel that I conjure you to accept....  It is essential that it does not take place.  I swear to you, that the peace of too many innocent persons is concerned.”

And he continued, calling into service at that moment all the intelligence and all the eloquence of which he was capable.  He could follow on the face of the former duellist, who had become the most ardent of Catholics and the most monomaniacal of old bachelors, twenty diverse expressions.  At length Montfanon laid his hand with veritable solemnity on his interlocutor’s arm and said to him: 

“Listen, Dorsenne, do not tell me any more....  I consent to what you ask of me, but on two conditions.  They are these:  The first is that Monsieur Chapron will trust absolutely to my judgment, whatsoever it may be; the second is that you will retire with me if these gentlemen persist in their childishness....  I promise to aid you in fulfilling a mission of charity, and not anything else; I repeat, not anything else.  Before bringing Monsieur Chapron to me you will repeat to him what I have said, word for word.”

“Word for word,” replied the other, adding:  “He is at home awaiting the result of my undertaking.”

“Then,” said the Marquis, “I will return to Rome with you at once.  He has probably already received Gorka’s seconds, and if they really wish to arrange a duel the rule is not to put it off....  I shall not see my procession, but to prevent misfortune is to do a good deed, and it is one way of praying to God.”

“Let me press your hand, my noble friend,” said Dorsenne; “never have I better understood what a truly brave man is.”

When the writer alighted, three-quarters of an hour later, at the house on the Rue Leopardi, after having seen Montfanon home, he felt sustained by such moral support that was almost joyous.  He found Florent in his species of salon-smoking-room, arranging his papers with methodical composure.

“He accepts,” were the first words the young men uttered, almost simultaneously, while Dorsenne repeated Montfanon’s words.

“I depend absolutely on you two,” replied the other.  “I have no thirst for Monsieur de Gorka’s blood....  But that gentleman must not accuse the grandson of Colonel Chapron of cowardice....  For that I rely upon the relative of General Dorsenne and on the old soldier of Charette.”

As he spoke, Florent handed a letter to Julien, who asked:  “From whom is this?”

“This,” said Florent, “is a letter addressed to you, on this very table half an hour ago by Baron Hafner....  There is some news.  I have received my adversary’s seconds.  The Baron is one, Ardea the other.”