Eugene shook in every
limb. There was the sound of wheels in the street, and in another
moment a man with a scared face rushed into the room. It was one of M.
Taillefer's servants; Mme. Couture recognized the livery at once.
"Mademoiselle," he cried, "your father is asking for you--something
terrible has happened! M. Frederic has had a sword thrust in the
forehead in a duel, and the doctors have given him up. You will
scarcely be in time to say good-bye to him! he is unconscious."
"Poor young fellow!" exclaimed Vautrin. "How can people brawl when
they have a certain income of thirty thousand livres? Young people
have bad manners, and that is a fact."
"Sir!" cried Eugene.
"Well, what then, you big baby!" said Vautrin, swallowing down his
coffee imperturbably, an operation which Mlle. Michonneau watched with
such close attention that she had no emotion to spare for the amazing
news that had struck the others dumb with amazement. "Are there not
duels every morning in Paris?" added Vautrin.
"I will go with you, Victorine," said Mme. Couture, and the two women
hurried away at once without either hats or shawls. But before she
went, Victorine, with her eyes full of tears, gave Eugene a glance
that said--"How little I thought that our happiness should cost me
tears!"
"Dear me, you are a prophet, M.
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