“Listen to me!  I do not know a more honest man than you, that is the reason why I select you.  First, this legacy is a trust.  I speak to you now in case of events which probably will never happen, but which I ought to prepare for.  I do not know what effect this may have upon Clemence’s fate; her aunt, who is very austere, may quarrel with her and deprive her of her rights; her personal fortune is not very large, I believe, and I know nothing about her marriage settlement.  She may thus be entirely at her husband’s mercy, and that is what I will not allow.  My fortune is therefore a trust that you will hold to be placed at her disposal at any time.  I hope that she loves me enough not to refuse this service of me.”

“Well and good!” said Marillac; “I will admit that the thought of inheriting from you choked me like a noose around my neck.”

“I beg of you to accept for yourself my copyrights as author.  You can not refuse that,” said Gerfaut, with a half smile; “this legacy belongs to the domain of art.  To whom should I leave it if not to you, my Patroclus, my faithful collaborator?”

The artist took several agitated turns about his room.

“To think,” he exclaimed, “that I was the one who saved this Bergenheim’s life!  If he kills you, I shall never forgive myself.  And yet, I told you this would end in some tragic manner.”

“What business had he there?  Is it not so?  What can I say?  We were seeking for a drama; here it is.  I am not anxious on my own account, but on hers.  Unhappy woman!  A duel is a stone that might fall upon a man’s head twenty times a day; it is sufficient for a simpleton if you stare at him, or for an awkward fellow if you tread upon his toes; but on her account—­poor angel!—­I can not think of it.  I need the fullest command of my head and my heart.  But it is growing lighter; there is not a moment to lose.  Go to the stable; saddle a horse yourself, if there is no servant up; go, as I said, to La Fauconnerie; I have often seen a post-chaise in the tavern courtyard; order it to wait all day at the back of the Montigny plateau.  You will find everything explained in detail in the note which I have given you.  Here is my purse; I need no money.”

Marillac put the purse in his pocket and the papers in his memorandum-book; he then buttoned up his redingote and put on his travelling cap.  His countenance showed a state of exaltation which belied, for the time being, the pacific theories he had expounded a few days before.

“You can depend upon me as upon yourself,” said he with energy.  “If this poor woman calls for my aid, I promise you that I will serve her faithfully.  I will take her wherever she wishes; to China, if she asks it, and in spite of the whole police force.  If Bergenheim kills you and then follows her up, there will be another duel.”

As he said these words, he took his stiletto and a pair of pistols from the mantel and put them in his pocket, after examining the edge of the one and the caps of the others.