“I was thinking of you.  It is Chateauvillars’s book on duelling.  It contains a code which is not very complete.  I recommend it to you, however, if ever you have to fulfil a mission like ours,” and he pointed to Dorsenne and himself, with a gesture which constituted the most amicable of acceptations.  “It seems you had too hasty a hand....  Ha! ha!  Do not defend yourself.  Such as you see me, at twenty-one I threw a plate in the face of a gentleman who bantered Comte de Chambord before a number of Jacobins at a table d’hote in the provinces.  See,” continued he, raising his white moustache and disclosing a scar, “this is the souvenir.  The fellow was once a dragoon; he proposed the sabre.  I accepted, and this is what I got, while he lost two fingers....  That will not happen to us this time at least....  Dorsenne has told you our conditions.”

“And I replied that I was sure I could not intrust my honor to better hands,” replied Florent.

“Cease!” replied Montfanon, with a gesture of satisfaction.  “No more phrases.  It is well.  Moreover, I judged you, sir, from the day on which you spoke to me at Saint Louis.  You honor your dead.  That is why I shall be happy, very happy, to be useful to you.”

“Now tell me very clearly the recital you made to Dorsenne.”

Then Florent related concisely that which had taken place between him and Gorka—­that is to say, their argument and his passion, carefully omitting the details in which the name of his brother-in-law would be mixed.

“The deuce!” said Montfanon, familiarly, “the affair looks bad, very bad....  You see, a second is a confessor.  You have had a discussion in the street with Monsieur Gorka, but about what?  You can not reply?  What did he say to you to provoke you to the point of wishing to strike him?  That is the first key to the position.”

“I can not reply,” said Florent.

“Then,” resumed the Marquis, after a silence, “there only remains to assert that the gesture on your part was—­how shall I say?  Unmeditated and unfinished.  That is the second key to the position....  You have no special grudge against Monsieur Gorka?”

“None.”

“Nor he against you?”

“None.”

“The affair looks better,” said Montfanon, who was silent for a time, to resume, in the voice of a man who is talking to himself, “Count Gorka considers himself offended?  But is there any offence?  It is that which we should discuss....  An assault or the threat of an assault would afford occasion for an arrangement....  But a gesture restrained, since it was not carried into effect....  Do not interrupt me,” he continued.

“I am trying to understand it clearly....  We must arrive at a solution.  We shall have to express our regret, leaving the field open to another reparation, if Gorka requires it....  And he will not require it.  The entire problem now rests on the choice of his seconds....  Whom will he select?”