"A reason in petticoats," said I, lightly. "A brother's a charming fellow to a man in love with the sister."
"No doubt; but he thought he was going to kill the 'charming fellow' in that duel. Why did he go away; and where did he go?"
"He didn't tell me his private business, naturally."
"Yet I'm much mistaken if it didn't in some way concern you."
"I don't see how."
"We don't see the sun at midnight, man; but that's only because there's something in the line of sight. Other people can see it clearly enough."
"Well, I don't see this sun, any way; and I'm not going to worry about it."
"Have you ever heard of Durescq? Alexandre Durescq?" he asked after a pause.
"No, never," I answered promptly, making one of those slips which it was impossible for me to avoid in my private chats. Essaieff's next words shewed me my blunder.
"My dear fellow, you must have heard of him. Durescq, the duellist. The man who has the reputation of being the best swordsman in the Russian army. The French fellow who naturalised, and clapped a 'c' into his name and cut off the tail of it to make Duresque into Durescq. Why, he was here last year, and dined with us at the mess. Devinsky brought him. You had joined us then, surely and must have been introduced by Devinsky? You must remember him."