and the pessimistic anticipations of the irritable Marquis were verified almost as soon as he uttered them.  Dorsenne and he had barely left the Palais Savorelli when Gorka arrived.  The energy with which he repulsed the proposition of an arrangement which would admit of excuses on his part, served prudent Hafner, and the not less prudent Ardea, as a signal for withdrawal.  It was too evident to the two men that no reconciliation would result from a collision of such a madman with a personage so difficult as the most authorized of Florent’s proxies had shown himself to be.  They then asked Gorka to relieve them from their duty.  They had too plausible an excuse in Fanny’s betrothal for Boleslas to refuse to release them.  That retirement was a second catastrophe.  In his impatience to find other seconds who would be firm, Gorka hastened to the Cercle de la Chasse.  Chance willed that he should meet with two of his comrades—­a Marquis Cibo, Roman, and a Prince Pietrapertoso, Neapolitan, who were assuredly the best he could have chosen to hasten the simplest affair to its worst consequences.

Those two young men of the best Italian families, both very intelligent, very loyal and very good, belonged to that particular class which is to be met with in Vienna, Madrid, St. Petersburg, as in Milan and in Rome, of foreign club-men hypnotized by Paris.  And what a Paris!  That of showy and noisy fetes, that which passes the morning in practising the sports in fashion, the afternoons in racing, in frequenting fencing-schools, the evening at the theatre and the night at the gaming-table!  That Paris which emigrates by turns, according to the season, to Monte Carlo for the ‘Tir aux Pigeons’, to Deauville for the race week, to Aix-les-Bains for the baccarat season; that Paris which has its own customs, its own language, its own history, even its own cosmopolitanism, for it exercises over certain minds, throughout Europe, so despotic a rule that Cibo, for example, and his friend Pietrapertoso never opened a French journal that was not Parisian.

They sought the short paragraphs in which were related, in detail, the doings of the demi-monde, the last supper given by some well-known viveur, the details of some large party in such and such a fashionable club, the result of a shooting match, or of a fencing match between celebrated fencers!  There were between them subjects of conversation of which they never wearied; to know if spirituelle Gladys Harvey was more elegant than Leona d’Astri, if Machault made “counters” as rapid as those of General Garnier, if little Lautrec would adhere or would not adhere to the game he was playing.  Imprisoned in Rome by the scantiness of their means, and also by the wishes, the one of his uncle, the other of his grandfather, whose heirs they were, their entire year was summed up in the months which they spent at Nice in the winter, and in the trip they took to Paris at the time of the Grand Prix for six weeks.  Jealous