"It is very easy to find out," said Adolphe; "let us go and inquire."
We went to M. X——'s house, and found that it was really he who had been fighting; he had had two fingers blown off—his third and little fingers. I sent up my visiting-card by his man-servant, and we took our departure. We had not gone more than two storeys downstairs when we heard the man running after us. M. X—— begged me to go in. I found him smiling in spite of his wounds, and very courteous in spite of his attack.
"Pray excuse me, monsieur," he said, "for the liberty I took in asking you to come back and see me; I use the privilege of a wounded person."
"Is your injury a serious one, monsieur?" I asked.
"No—I escaped with the loss of two fingers from my right hand; and since I still have three left with which to write and tell you how sorry I am for having made myself unpleasant towards you, I have all I need."
"You still have the use of your left to shake hands with me, monsieur," I said, "and that would be better than tiring your right over anything imaginable."
We shook hands; conversed on indifferent topics; and then, ten minutes later, we took leave of one another. We have never seen each other since, and, as I have said, I have totally forgotten his name. I bear my memory a grudge, for I shall ever remember him with pleasure.
Singular freak of chance! If this man had not had a quarrel with Carrel, and if Carrel had not deprived him of his two fingers, he would have fought with me, and he might have killed me or been killed by me. And for what reason, I ask you?