and perfect coolness, and if the person in whose behalf the comte so fought and shed his blood does, in reality, owe some gratitude to the poor wounded sufferer, it is not on account of the blood he has shed, or the agony he has suffered, but for the steps he has taken to preserve from comment or reflection an honor which is more precious to him than his own.”

“Oh!” cried Madame, as if she had been alone, “is it possible the quarrel was on my account!”

Manicamp felt he could now breathe for a moment — and gallantly had he won the right to do so. Madame, on her side, remained for some time plunged in a painful reverie.

Her agitation could be seen by her quick respiration, by her drooping eyelids, by the frequency with