"Certainly; a duel about me—that is to say—I had no idea it would go so far. Mon Dieu! there are some women who like nothing better than to have men fight for them; but my remorse is terrible!"
Madame Baldimer bestowed a piercing glance on Herminie, as if she wished to fathom her thoughts.
"Who was the man who fought for you, madame?" she asked.
"Monsieur Albert Vermoncey and Monsieur Tobie Pigeonnier, two hot-headed youths who adored me. Oh! what a misfortune it is to arouse such passions! That young Albert had deceived me, it is true; but that was no reason—— Oh! how wrong it was of me to say that I wished to be avenged!"
"Monsieur Albert fought a duel for you, you say? When?"
"The day before I left Paris for the country—about two months and a half ago."
"Well! what was the result of this duel?"
"Horrible, madame, shocking! Poor Albert was killed by that little Tobie—killed with a sword-thrust! That is the calamity of which I am the cause, and for which I shall never forgive myself!"
Madame Plays covered her eyes with her handkerchief; but, instead of the emotional outburst which she anticipated from Madame Baldimer, she was surprised to hear that lady say, with a sarcastic smile:
"Abate your remorse, madame; do not be so heart-broken, I entreat you; for the men who get themselves killed for your sake are still in remarkably good health."