I really believe the old gentleman had quite forgotten about the duel.
"Ah!" said he. "Lichtenberg." And he struck his knee with his fist. Then he got up and paced the room in deep thought. Then, turning to me, he smiled.
"Yes," he said, "I had forgotten. This affair will keep you in Paris; but when it is over, please to remember my advice and my address in England."
"When it is over," replied I, "I may be dead."
"Oh, no," said the Vicomte; "you will not be dead. At least"—and here he smiled again—"not in my opinion."
CHAPTER XXXV A LESSON WITH THE FOILS
He departed for Auvergne next day, he and Beril, and a pile of luggage. A number of people saw him off from the station, including myself.
They did not see a rat leaving a sinking ship: they saw a jovial old gentleman, with a cigar in his mouth, entering a first-class carriage, a nobleman departing to visit his estates. He was to be back in a month, so he said; and the last I saw of him was a jovial red face, and a hand waving a copy of the "Charivari" to the little crowd of friends he had left on the platform.