"Oh! it isn't that, monsieur; this letter that I have brought is from monsieur your son."
"From my son?"
"Yes, monsieur; he handed it to me a few minutes ago, and said: 'If you don't see me again in two hours, take this letter to my father; but not before.'"
"What does it mean?"
"But his friend, the man who was with him, whispered to me: 'Go to Monsieur Vermoncey at once; there's to be a duel.'"
"A duel! O my God!"
Monsieur Vermoncey rose, took the letter from Paul's hand, and hastily ran his eyes over it.
"The unhappy boy!" he cried; "he says good-bye to me, asks me to forgive him for fighting. Ah! he must have determined to kill me too. But you say it was only a moment ago that Albert gave you this letter?"
"Yes, monsieur—out on the boulevard."
"Ah! then he shall not fight; I will stop this duel. O my God! my son, the last of my children! to lose him as well would be too horrible!"