My guardian told me of the talk.
"Paris is a whispering gallery," said the old gentleman, "filled with fools. They put the thing down to the fact of the duel between your father and Baron Imhoff. The whole thing is unfortunate; the relations of the Saluces and the Lichtenbergs have always been unfortunate; yet the two families have had an attraction for each other, to judge by the intermarriages. Still, this young Baron Carl seems quite a nice person, a nobleman of the old type, a man of distinction and presence——"
"You have met him?"
"I was introduced at D'Harmonville's ball. Yes; quite a nobleman of the old school; and it seems a pity that you should bear him any grudge on account of the unfortunate fact that Baron Imhoff——"
"I don't. I don't hold him responsible for the fact that Baron Imhoff killed my father. I have no grudge against him."
"I am glad to hear that," said the Vicomte; and two days later he invited Von Lichtenberg to dinner with me!
I did not come to that dinner. I was a living man with a will of my own. (How that phrase haunts me like satiric laughter!) I would pursue my own course; and no dead Fate would drag me against my will, or move me to another purpose except my own.
I dined at the Café de Paris with a friend, and as I was coming away whom should I meet but my old enemy the Comte de Coigny!
This gentleman was flushed with wine; he was descending the stairs with two ladies, and when he saw me he started. We had not spoken for years, yet he came forward to introduce himself.
When we had exchanged a few platitudes, he turned to the matter that was evidently the motive-power of his civility.