This kind, and even brilliant, offer of Mr. Morris's Calvert declined, reiterating smilingly to that gentleman that he felt himself a little better of that fever of love and disappointment which he had endured in silence for so long, and that he had no intention of suffering a relapse. Indeed, he might have got over it in time, and been as contented as many another man, but that he was suddenly recalled to all that he had tried so sedulously for two years to forget. This was brought about by a meeting with Monsieur le Baron de St. Aulaire a couple of weeks after Mr. Morris's departure for Paris. Although it was known that the French nobleman was in London, Mr. Calvert did not see him until one evening at the house of Monsieur de la Luzerne. A large company had gathered at the Ambassador's, where Monsieur de St. Aulaire presented himself toward the end of the evening. 'Twas so evident that he had been drinking deeply that Calvert would have avoided him, but that the tipsy nobleman, catching sight of him, made his way directly to him.

"At last, Monsieur," he said, bowing low and laying his hand unsteadily on the small sword he wore at his side.

"Well," replied Mr. Calvert, coldly, by no means pleased at the attention bestowed upon him so unexpectedly. Monsieur de St. Aulaire sober he found objectionable; Monsieur de St. Aulaire drunk was insufferable.

"'Well' is a cold welcome, Mr. Calvert," he said, the insolent smile deepening on his lips.

"I am not here to welcome you, Monsieur," returned Calvert, indifferently.

Monsieur de St. Aulaire waved his hand lightly as if flinging off the insult, but the flush on his dissipated face deepened. Calvert, seeing that he could not be got rid of immediately, drew him into a little anteroom where they were almost alone.

"And yet I wished profoundly that we might meet, Monsieur—more so, apparently, I regret to say, than you have. I have seen friends of ours in Paris since you have had that pleasure, Monsieur," says St. Aulaire, throwing himself across a chair and resting his folded arms on the back.

"Indeed."

"You are cold-blooded, Monsieur—'tis a grave fault. You miss half the pleasures of life—but I think you would like to know whom I mean. Confess, Monsieur! But there, I see you know—who else could it be but Madame de St. André?" and the insolent smile broke into a still more insolent laugh.

"We will leave Madame de St. André's name out of this conversation,
Monsieur."

"Pardieu! So you think I am not worthy to mention it, Monsieur," cried
St. Aulaire, half-rising and laying his hand again on his dress sword.

"I know it, Monsieur," retorted Calvert, coolly.

"You are not so cold-blooded after all! I have struck fire at last!" said St. Aulaire, looking at Calvert for an instant and then breaking into a drunken laugh as he reseated himself. "'Tis a pity Madame de St. André has not my luck—for, look you, Monsieur," he went on, leaning over the back of the chair and shaking his finger at Calvert, "I think she likes you and would be kind—very kind—to you, should you be inclined to return to Paris and tempt your fortune."

"Were you sober, Monsieur, I would ask you for five minutes and a pair of pistols or rapiers, if you prefer," says Calvert, white and threatening.

"By God, Monsieur, how dare you say I am drunk?" flings out the other, rising so unsteadily as to............