“Have you read that paper?”

“The marked part of it, yes.”

“You know that that sheet is never read, it has no circulation whatever, it lives from its advertisements.  There is no use in taking any notice of it.”

“If there were question only of myself, I should not take any notice of it.  But they have mixed up in this scandal the name of the woman to whom I have given my name.  I wish to know who did it, and why he did it.”

“Oh! for nothing, for fun!  Because this Monsieur—­how does he sign himself?—­Puck had nothing else to write about.”

“It is certainly absurd,” remarked Zilah, “to imagine that a man can live in the ideal.  At every step the reality splashes you with mud.”

As he spoke, he moved toward the door.

“Where are you going?” asked Varhely again.

“To the office of this journal.”

“Do not commit such an imprudence.  The article, which has made no stir as yet, will be read and talked of by all Paris if you take any notice of it, and it will be immediately commented upon by the correspondents of the Austrian and Hungarian journals.”

“That matters little to me!” said the Prince, resolutely.  “Those people will only do what their trade obliges them to.  But, before everything, I am resolved to do my duty.  That is my part in this matter.”

“Then I will accompany you.”

“No,” replied Andras, “I ask you not to do that; but it is probable that to-morrow I shall request you to serve as my second.”

“A duel?”

“Exactly.”

“With Monsieur—­Puck?”

“With whoever insults me.  The name is perfectly immaterial.  But since he escapes me and she is irresponsible—­and punished—­I regard as an accomplice of their infamy any man who makes allusion to it with either tongue or pen.  And, my dear Varhely, I wish to act alone.  Don’t be angry; I know that in your hands my honor would be as faithfully guarded as in my own.”

“Without any doubt,” said Varhely, in an odd tone, pulling his rough moustache, “and I hope to prove it to you some day.”

CHAPTER XXV

The home of “Puck”

Prince Zilah did not observe at all the marked significance old Yanski gave to this last speech.  He shook Varhely’s hand, entered a cab, and, casting a glance at the journal in his hands, he ordered the coachman to drive to the office of ‘L’Actualite’, Rue Halevy, near the Opera.

The society journal, whose aim was represented by its title, had its quarters on the third floor in that semi-English section where bars, excursion agencies, steamboat offices, and manufacturers of travelling-bags give to the streets a sort of Britannic aspect.  The office of ‘L’Actualite’ had only recently been established there.  Prince Zilch read the number of the room upon a brass sign and went up.