PronunciationTheir lofty mission is to pass calm judgment on the trivial eventsin the daily life of nations. Their wisdom should pre-empt anyfury caused by little things, or by events which the voice of repute transfigures in bruiting them abroad.

　　GRATIUSFor a newcomer, who, out of pride, never asked any questions, Julienmanaged to avoid any serious pitfall. One day, when he had been driveninto a cafe in the Rue Saint-Honore by a sudden shower, a tall man in abeaver coat, surprised at his gloomy stare, began to stare back at him exactly as Mademoiselle Amanda's lover had stared at him, long before, atBesancon.

　　Julien had too often reproached himself for having allowed the formerinsult to pass unpunished to tolerate this stare. He demanded an explanation, the man in the greatcoat at once began to abuse him in the foulestterms: everyone in the cafe gathered round them; the passers-by stoppedoutside the door. With provincial caution, Julien always carried a braceof pocket pistols; his hand gripped one of these in his pocket with a convulsive movement. Better counsels prevailed, however, and he confinedhimself to repeating with clockwork regularity: 'Sir, your address? Iscorn you.'

　　The persistence with which he clung to these six words began to impress the crowd.

　　'Gad, that other fellow who goes on talking by himself ought to givehim his address.' The man in the greatcoat, hearing this opinion freelyvented, flung a handful of visiting cards in Julien's face. Fortunately,none of them hit him, he had vowed that he would use his pistol only inthe event of his being touched. The man went away, not without turninground from time to time to shake his fist at Julien and to shout abuse.

　　 Julien found himself bathed in sweat. 'So it lies within the power of thelowest of mankind to work me up like this!' he said angrily to himself.

　　'How am I to destroy this humiliating sensibility?'

　　Where was he to find a second? He had made the acquaintance of anumber of men; but all of them, after six weeks or so, had drifted awayfrom him. 'I am unsociable, and here I am cruelly punished for it,' hethought. Finally, it occurred to him to apply to a retired Lieutenant of the96th named Lieven, a poor devil with whom he used often to fence. Julien was frank with him.

　　'I shall be glad to be your second,' said Lieven, 'but upon one condition: if you do not hit your man, you shall fight with me, there and then.'

　　'Agreed,' said Julien, with delight; and they went to find M. C. deBeauvoisis at the address indicated upon his cards, in the heart of theFaubourg Saint-Germain.

　　It was seven o'clock in the morning. It was only when he sent in hisname that it occurred to Julien that this might be Madame de Renal'syoung relative, formerly attached to the Embassy at Rome or Naples,who had given the singer Geronimo a letter of introduction.

　　Julien had handed to a tall footman one of the cards flung at him theday before, together with one of his own.

　　He was kept waiting, with his second, for fully three quarters of anhour; finally they were shown into an admirably furnished apartment.

　　They found a tall young man, got up like a doll; his features exemplifiedthe perfection and the insignificance of Grecian beauty. His head, remarkably narrow, was crowned with a pyramid of the most beautifulgolden locks. These were curled with scrupulous care, not a hair stoodout from the rest. 'It is to have his hair curled like that,' thought the Lieutenant of the 96th, 'that this damned idiot has been keeping us waiting.'

　　His striped dressing-gown, his morning trousers, everything, down tohis embroidered slippers, was correct and marvellously well cared for.

　　His features, noble and vacuous, betokened a propriety and paucity ofideas, the ideal of the well-meaning man, a horror of the unexpected andof ridicule, an abundance of gravity.

　　Julien, to whom his Lieutenant of the 96th had explained that to keephim waiting so long, after rudely flinging his card in his face, was an additional insult, strode boldly into M. de Beauvoisis's presence. It was hisintention to be insolent, but he wished at the same time to show his goodbreeding.

　　 He was so much impressed by M. de Beauvoisis's gentle manners, byhis air at once formal, important and self-satisfied, by the admirable elegance of his surroundings, that in a twinkling all thought of being insolentforsook him. This was not his man of the day before. So great was his astonishment at finding so distinguished a person in place of the vulgarfellow he had met in the cafe, that he could not think of a single word tosay. He presented one of the cards that had been flung at him:

　　'This is my name,' said the man of fashion, in whom Julien's black coat,at seven o'clock in the morning, inspired but scant respect; 'but I do notunderstand, the honour … '

　　His way of pronouncing these last words restored some of Julien's illhumour.

　　'I have come to fight with you, Sir,' and he rapidly explained thesituation.

　　M. Charles de Beauvoisis, after giving it careful thought, was quite satisfied with the cut of Julien's black coat. 'From Staub's, clearly,' he said tohimself, listening to him in silence, 'that waistcoat is in good taste, theboots are right; but, on the other hand, that black coat in the early morning! … It will be to stop the bullet,' thought the Chevalier de Beauvoisis.

　　As soon as he had furnished himself with this explanation, he revertedto a perfect politeness, and addressed Julien almost as an equal. The discussion lasted for some time, it was a delicate matter; but in the end Julien could not reject the evidence of his own eyes. The well-bred youngman whom he saw before him bore no resemblance whatsoever to therude person who, the day before, had insulted him.

　　Julien felt an invincible reluctance to go away, he prolonged the explanation. He observed the self-sufficiency of the Chevalier de Beauvoisis, for such was the style that he had adopted in referring to himself,shocked at Julien's addressing him as Monsieur, pure and simple.

　　He admired the other's gravity, blended with a certain modest fatuitybut never discarded for a single instant. He was astonished by the curious way in which his tongue moved as he enunciated his words … Butafter all, in all this, there was not the slightest reason to pick a quarrelwith him.

　　The young diplomat offered to fight with great courtesy, but the ex-Lieutenant of the 96th, who had been sitting for an hour with his legsapart, his hands on his hips and his arms akimbo, decided that hisfriend, M. Sorel, was not the sort of person to pick a quarrel, in the German fashion, with another man, because that man's visiting cardshad been stolen.

　　Julien left the house in the worst of tempers. The Chevalier deBeauvoisis's carriage was waiting for............