“It’s true, mamzelle! it’s true! It was Monsieur Edmond who hit Monsieur Luminot, and it was his friend, the little man—what do you call him? Monsieur Cornichon—who threw somebody onto Monsieur Droguet and dislocated his jaw.”
“Mon Dieu! what was the cause of the quarrel?”
“Faith! I don’t know; they say so many things; one has it one way and one another!”
“Can’t you guess, Honorine? Somebody insulted us at that woman’s house, and Edmond couldn’t stand it!”
“It is likely; and they have concealed it all from us, in order not to distress us.”
“But it’s all over now, isn’t it, Père Ledrux?”
“Over! oh! no, mamzelle! You see, Monsieur Luminot, who’s quite a buck, can’t take a blow like that without drawing his sword. So they’re going to fight; Monsieur Luminot told everybody so yesterday. He walked all round the neighborhood on purpose, and sung out to everybody he met:
“‘I say! Here’s something. I’m going to fight, I’ve got a duel with pistols on hand!’”
“To fight! Do you hear, Honorine? they are going to fight!—Ah! that is what my heart divined! Tell us, Père Ledrux, when this duel is to take place?”
“It seems it’s this morning that they’re all to meet with their seconds—I believe there’s six seconds.”