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Show ly up and down the room. It waa true. On the morrow ho was to fight., On the morrow, pistol in hand, he would be risking his own life to take another's. His life! Great God, did it belong to him? Had he the right to dispose of it? Did ho not owe it, as much as money, to those who depended upon him? Were he dead, What would be the fate of his wife and children, thrown helpless on the mercies of his terrible creditors? He had no money. There was not a hundred hun-dred francs in the house. His sole fortune for-tune was in his pen, his talent, his brain. Where would they be to-morrow? And his little wife, so fragile, so delicate, deli-cate, what waa in store for her? The hospital? And after that? And his children chil-dren Goorget, so bright, so happy, so intelligent; his little girl, his merry fairy what would become of them? Fougeret continued to pace nervously up and down the floor. The veins in his temples throbbed until they seemed on the point of bursting. He moistened his handkerchief and wound it about his head. The cold water helped to cool his burning brain. Now he saw it all clearer. clear-er. He had exaggerated the situation; a duel was not necessarily fatal, Had he not already fought three of them, and was he not alive on the eve of tho fourth? Yes; but then he was alono in the world. His life was his own; he had tho right to dispose of it as ho pleased. Ho had given no portion of his life to a wife; no children chil-dren to leave behind, fatherless, penniless penni-less and heirless. And as these thoughts again began to surge through his aching brain ho fancied he could see the shining barrel of a pistol, with the little, round, dark hole aimed directly between his eyes. He tried in vain to change the current of his thoughts. They refused to vanish. He was responsible for the care of those he loved. They lived by him, and they would perish without him. The ball that struck him would take more than one life. There would be three other tion was assured, and he consequently began to acquire enemies. A collection of his articles from The Vert Vert into a volume entitled "Contes Roses" drew from the pen of the bilious St. Landry a critique so scathing, bo bitter, so unjust, that Fougeret,' acting on the advice of his friends, had sent his seconds to the jealous writer. And to-morrow he would be on the field as calm and careless as he had been before. What better satisfaction could be given him? Nothing could be more agreeable, thought Fougeret,' as he halted halt-ed before his modest little house and turned the key in the door. I "At last, Armand," said a soft voice j coming from tho kitchen; "I am so glad. Wait in the dining room; dinner is ready." He entered the room. The table was set with four plates, and the room looked so cozy and pleasant that tho young man gavo vent to a contented sigh. The next moment tho door of the kitchen opened, revealing a dainty little woman, somewhat some-what pale, with very blue eyes and very blonde hair, holding a smoking soup tureen, and followed by a 4-year-old baby, who solemnly brought up the rear with tho ladle. "How is this?" inquired Armand, sitting sit-ting down and unrolling his napkin, after af-ter having tenderly kissed his wil'o and children ; "you are waiting on the table? Where is RoBe?" "Rose?" replied the littlo woman, with va shade of embarrassment, "she has goue. 1 sent her away." "Sent her away?" said Armand,' surprised, sur-prised, "and why?" ".She was dishonest," replied Clandine, "and I could not keep her. So I paid her a week in advanco and dismissed her. You owe your dinner to Georget and me." . "Yes," said Georget, gravely, "it was us. Don't you like the soup, papa?" "Excellont," declared Armand; "I congratulate you on your skill. But," lnwerinc his voice, "where did vou cot the money to pay her with?" "I used what you gavo me for the house tliis week. I knew that since your new hook-is nearly finished yon could go to your publisher to-iuorrow and ask an advance." Armund trembled. "So we can get along nicely," con-tinned con-tinned his wifo; "I would rather wait until your novel was finished, but I do not think I aui strong enough to go without eating until then. I have the will, but not the substance, you know." 'But you shall have the money' broke in Annaud; "you must not tire yourself out. I will have it I will take it 200 300 francs, if you wish." "That will be better," said Claudine, with a charming air of content, "because now I will not have to part with my piano. pi-ano. I wanted to koep it a secret from you, but I found it a superfluous luxury, and they were coming to-morrow to take it away. With the 300 francs we can get a nurse for the little one and so many other tilings." "I boo," said Armand, with a sad nnile, "that the money will not last very long." "But in three weeks your novel will be finished and then we shall be rich again. Then I shall have a new dross. Look, I have made thisone over so many times that there is scarcely anything left to hold the threads together." "Yes," replied Armand, gazing at the poor little threadbare gown, "I know I know." "And you must have some new clothes, too, my dear. And a new dress for Georget. Why, we will spend at least fifteeu hundred francs." "Fifteon huudrod francs," repeated Armand, thoughtfully. , "Yes. It is a large snm for us to spend now, dear. But your novel will bring us at leant three thousand, and to think that it will be finished in twenty days." "In twenty days," said Armand, repeating re-peating the words in a mechanical manner. man-ner. "Ah, how happy we will be,'" said the little woman, her eyes sparkling at the prospect of the good fortune which she beheld in prospect; "we can pass the summer at the seaside Georget shall have a pretty red cap and we will enjoy ourselves as we did four years ago, when we were rich. Do you remember how we used to go crabbing and that big ferocious fe-rocious crab that frightened me so? It all comes back to me again, and with it all the other pleasures I owe to you. Kiss me, my dear," and the affectionate wife threw her arms about the neck of her husband, who embraced her tenderly. "But," said Claudine, when she had disentangled herbelf from Armand's victims three to whom he owed love, happiness and bread. Good God, how terrible it all was! But another idea, equally ns horrible, crossed his mind. His honor! He knew his comrades and the incredulous incred-ulous flaneurs of the boulevard. He heard their comments and their pitiless raillery. What word were they pronouncing? pro-nouncing? "A coward!" No, it was impossible. He surely would find some one of his companions who would defend de-fend him. Men are good at heart; some one would be found who could understand. under-stand. "Armand," came an anxious voice from the adjoining room, "are you troubled? Yon have been talking to yourself for a whole hour. You are not ill?" "No, no, my dear," he replied, going to the door, "do not worry. I I am working." "Ah, that is well," said Claudine, with a sweet smile. Then, as she dropped her long lashes over her slumber heavy eyes, she murmured; "Think what would become of us if you were to get sick the little ones and me. Baby is asleep. Good night dour," and the loving wife resumed her interrupted inter-rupted dream. At the other end of the room, safely tucked in his little crib, smiling and peaceful, with his little hands tightly clasped, little Georgot slopt. A sudden torrent of tears burst from Armand's eyes and wet his cheeks. He rushed into his studio, seized a sheet of paper and wrote. The next morning at 10:30 a man irreproachably ir-reproachably attired in black stood on the field at Vezinet and with an agitated air held out a letter to another person-Bgo, person-Bgo, equally anxious and no less solemn. "Is it possible?" said tho first. . "What, a message?" said the second. "The unfortunate man forgets that he dishonors himself," said one. "And that his cowardice might reflect on us," replied the other. "But that shall not happen," said both together. And with a grave air and measured steps tho two men advanced toward a small group who were viewing the unusual unu-sual proceedings with surprise. "Gentlemen," said one of the pair, speaking composedly in the midst of a general silence, "we regret to announce that our principal and former friend, M. Armaud Fougeret.will not be on the field today. He will not fight. "It is scarcely necessary for me to add," he continued, replacing his hat on his head with a sweeping gesture, "that, as for us, we are entirely at your service." serv-ice." Argonaut, from tho French of Pierre Decourcello. THE FIELD OF HONOR "It is all arranged," said Clavignac, in 'a loud voice, entering the cafe where Fougeret, surrounded by the usual group of journalists and other professional men who frequented the place, was waiting his friend's return; "pistols at twenty paces; firing to continue until a result is reached." "Good," said Fougeret, calmly; "and the rendezvous?" "To-morrow morning at 10 o'clock, on the Vezinet race course. You will go with us toAsnieres. Order me a carriage car-riage for 8 o'clock, and be sure to have the driver we had in tho last affair. He will bring us luck." "Agreed." I "And do not forget the doctor. Leave the pistols to me. I have a new set and it will be an excellent opportunity to try them." "I leave it all to you." I And after warmly pressing Clavi- gnac's hand Fougeret nodded a hasty adieu to his friends and quitted the Toom. , "A cool hand, that Fougeret," remarked re-marked the sporting editor of a morning paper in a knowing manner. "Yes, very cool," came in a chorus from the little group, as if their comrade's courage in some way redounded to their own credit. "Well, he ought to be," declared Cla-vignac, Cla-vignac, pouring out a glass of absinthe; "he .is familiar with the situation; if I count right, this is his fourth affair." i "Indeed?" returned the journalist, respectfully. re-spectfully. "I must put him down for my next article on the swordsmen of Paris." In the meantime Fougeret had gained tho street. On reaching the door of the cafe he paused for a moment to reflect, and after a decisive gesture started along the boulevard at a rapid rate. In a few minutes he halted before the window of a large book store filled with many colored col-ored volumes and placards. Prominently Prominent-ly displayed in the first rank were a number of coquettish little volumes, neatly stamped on the backs with these three lines: "Armand Fougeret Contes Koses Third Edition." The young man opened the door, and passing between the long lines of books addressed a clerk: , "Is M. Lavinie in?" ! "Yes; you will find him alone." ' Fougeret turned to the right and tapped tap-ped on the door. "Come in," cried a clear voice. I He entered. . "Ah," smiled the publisher, a young man with a blonde beard and lively eyes, holding out his hand to his visitor, "I am glad to see yon. The 'Contes Boses' are going well. You saw them in the window? Tlurd edition but what can I do for you .this afternoon?" ' "Can't you guess?" replied Fougeret, entiling in turn. "Money? The deuce," said the publisher, pub-lisher, 'his brow clouding. "Always money. It seems to me that you have already drawn in advance." "True, but I go out to-morrow and it is necessary"- 11 A duel?" interrupted the other, "with Saint-Landry for his article on the 'Contes 'Con-tes Roses,' I am certain. You are right, my friend. The article was in bad taste and it has affected our sale. Now, a duel, on the other hand, will be an excellent ex-cellent advertisement, and better still, will cost us nothing. All the morning papers will have the affair in full, and in giving the origin of the quarrel will speak of the book. An excellent idea-admirable. idea-admirable. Will ten 1 ouis be enough?" "Quite sufficient." "There they are," said the publisher, ranging ten pieces of gold on Ins desk, while the clerk drew up a receipt. "A thousand thanks," said Fougeret, as he gathered up the money. "Not at all," replied the other, placing the receipt in his desk, "you know I am always ready to oblige you. I count on seeing you at the Varieties to-morrow night." Fougeret shook the hand that was extended to him and went out. By this time it was 5 o'clock. The young man regained the street, and walked toward the Madeleine, keeping step to a lively operatic air that he carelessly care-lessly whistled until he reached the swarm of public carriages which crowd the streets of that quarter. Keeping in mind his friend's recommendation touching touch-ing the selection of a driver, he hunted up the carriage mascot and instructed him to call for Clavignac at 8 on the following fol-lowing morning. After attending to this matter he directed his footsteps toward to-ward the Saint-La zare station. The preparatory details did not seem to movo him; he knew them all. , Every affair was the same, and as he walked along he ran over in his mind tli9 details of the duels h 8 had already been engaged in. The first kiad been seven years, earlier, at Savigny-sur-Orze, where he made his journalistic dibut on one of the local papers. pa-pers. Espousing the candidacy of the celebrated banker Noirville the young journalist found himself arrayed in fierce opposition to the Legitimist organ. The controversey wound up on the field, where he was wounded, but Noirville, elected by 7,000 majority, rewarded his follower with the assurance of his protection. pro-tection. The second arose in the Bourne, where he appeared as Noirville's secretary. His eealons interest in his patron won rapid success that soon involved him in a dispute dis-pute with a jealous colleague, who sought a quarrel and found a sword thrust. . The third! occurred several years before be-fore tho affair he was just entering on, and close ou its heels came tho ruin of his patron, Noirville, whose speculations i terminated with a sudden crash. With the bankerV fall went all his secretary's ; prospects, and Fougeret's little fortune disappeared in the whirlpool. The young man, at first despondent, quickly rallied from the blow, and set himself to work to recover the ground he had lost. He had others to think of besides himself his courageous little wife, whom he had wedded in the days of smiling prosperity, prosperi-ty, and who clumr to him nlosur than ever cturing his nustbrtune. Thettiought , of her and his two toddling children served to stimulate his efforts and strengthen him in the struggle for existence. exist-ence. Thanks to his relations with Noirville Noir-ville Fougeret knew a number of journalists, jour-nalists, and through the kindness of one of them the doors of a review were open-?d open-?d to ibe young wrriter, whose first series uf contributions received marked approval appro-val from the literary world. His first novel, "A Friend's Wife," achieved a brilliajt success, and the comedy which p be drew from it met with an enthumas-L enthumas-L tic reception on the first performance at the Odeon. From that time his reuuta- arms, "it is 9 o clock already. I must put baby to bod and see that the house is safely locked. But first let me see you to your table." And taking the lamp Claudine preceded pre-ceded her husband into his little studio udjoiniug thoirliedchamber. "There," she said, drawing near for a parting kiss, "until we meet . again. Work quickly. Think that our happiness happi-ness depends on those pages." Claudine went out. Armand seized his pen, but in spite of his efforts he found it impossible to write a single line. Other thoughts, which refused to be banished, occupied his mind. Leaning his head on his hand, and staring vacantly va-cantly into space, he remained in one position duriug two long hours. He was thinking. A light tap sounded on the door. "Armand," said a soft voice, "I am going to bed. Baby is asleep, and I ha ve locked everything up safe and sure. Do not work too late you must not tire you'M.'lf, dear." Tho words recalled him from his reverie. rev-erie. Ho cast his eyes ou the paper before be-fore him; it was blank. "Come," ho muttered, "I must get to work," and seizing a pen he wrote with feverish haste, falling five or six pagi'S without raising his head. Suddenly -ha stopped. He had just written these words, placed by him in the mouth of one of the characters in his novel: "And if you are seeking a duel you shall have one." "A duel!" he cried; "why I am going to tight one myself." - And a vision of the raorrcAv flashed before his eyes. He saw the clearing, the group of seconds, two men dressed in black facing each other and their pistols pis-tols pointed toward the grass, waiting for the signal, while the sunbeams filtered fil-tered through tho trees and the birds on the branches chanted joyously Sudduul,- the picture changed. A man, pale and with closed eyes, lay stretched on a litter, whilo c.ne of the earners stood knocking at a door. The door was his own ! And the woman who ran to nwxt tho funeral cortege the trembling creature who, with a terrible cry, threw herself on the corpse he recognized, rec-ognized, too. . It was Claudine. Armand rose hastily and paced rapid- |