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Updated: June 21, 2025
"It is impossible," said Florent; "Marquis de Montfanon.... He will never consent. I do not exist for him." "That is my affair," cried Dorsenne. "Let me take the necessary steps in my own name, and then if he agrees you can make it in yours.... Only we have no time to lose. Do not leave your house until six o'clock. By that time I shall know upon what to depend."
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.
"He is all right, I hope," replied Montfanon, adding, with ill-humor: "Dorsenne is a fool; that is what Dorsenne is. And Gorka is a wild beast; that is what Gorka is." And he related the episode which had just taken place to the two men, who were so surprised that the doctor, bandage in hand, paused in his work. "And they wish to fight there at once, like redskins.
"One of my friends, Marquis de Montfanon, met him this morning." A fresh silence ensued between the two, during which Julien felt that the arm upon which he rested trembled. Then they joined the party, while Florent said aloud: "It is an excellent piece of painting, which has, unfortunately, been revarnished too much." "May I have done right!" thought Julien. "He understood me."
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.
The energy employed by Montfanon had only ended in somewhat tempering the conditions four balls to be exchanged at twenty-five paces at the word of command. The duel was fixed for the following morning, in the inclosure which Cibo owned, with an inn adjoining, not very far distant from the classical tomb of Cecilia Metella.
As for the Baron, he consented oh, irony of coincidences! by saying to Peppino Ardea words almost identical with those which Montfanon had uttered to Dorsenne: "We will draw up, in advance, an official plan of conciliation, and, if the matter can not be arranged, we will withdraw."
It is probably the twentieth I have studied, and I shall no doubt study twenty more, for not one resembles another. Are you indulgently inclined toward me, now that you have got even with me in making me hold forth at this corner, like the hero of a Russian novel? Well, now adieu." Montfanon had listened to the discourse with an inpenetrable air.
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?
She is such a veritable slave whom the mere presence of a white person annihilates to such a degree that she dares not look her husband in the face.... It is not Hafner. The sly fox is capable of doing anything by cunning, but is he capable of undertaking a useless and dangerous piece of rascality? Never.... Fanny is a saint escaped from the Golden Legend, no matter what Montfanon thinks!
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