Chapter 7 - Page 2

Plume" which should contain the reply to his note. He
ran his eyes over the columns and at first saw nothing. He was
beginning to breathe more freely when these words met his eye:

"M. Duroy of 'La Vie Francaise' gives us the lie! In doing so,
he lies. He owns, however, that a woman named Aubert exists,
and that she was taken before a magistrate by an agent. Two
words only remain to be added to the word 'agent,' which are
'of morals' and all is told. But the consciences of certain
journalists are on a par with their talents."

"I sign myself, Louis Langremont."

Georges's heart throbbed violently, and he returned home in order to
dress himself. He had been insulted and in such a manner that it was
impossible to hesitate. Why had he been insulted? For nothing! On
account of an old woman who had quarreled with her butcher.

He dressed hastily and repaired to M. Walter's house, although it
was scarcely eight o'clock. M. Walter was reading "La Plume."

"Well," he said gravely, on perceiving Duroy, "you cannot let that
pass." The young man did not reply.

The manager continued: "Go at once in search of Rival, who will look
after your interests."

Duroy stammered several vague words and set out for Rival's house.
Jacques was still in bed, but he rose when the bell rang, and having
read the insulting paragraph, said: "Whom would you like to have
besides me?"

"I do not know."

"Boisrenard?"

"Yes."

"Are you a good swordsman?"

"No."

"A good shot?"

"I have used a pistol a good deal."

"Good! Come and exercise while I attend to everything. Wait a
moment."

He entered his dressing-room and soon reappeared, washed, shaven,
and presentable.

"Come with me," said he. He lived on the ground floor, and he led
Duroy into a cellar converted into a room for the practice of
fencing and shooting. He produced a pair of pistols and began to
give his orders as briefly as if they were on the dueling ground. He
was well satisfied with Duroy's use of the weapons, and told him to
remain there and practice until noon, when he would return to take
him to lunch and tell him the result of his mission. Left to his own
devices, Duroy aimed at the target several times and then sat down
to reflect.

Such affairs were abominable anyway! What would a respectable man
gain by risking his life? And he recalled Norbert de Varenne's
remarks, made to him a short while before. "He was right!" he
declared aloud. It was gloomy in that cellar, as gloomy as in a
tomb. What