"You have doubtlessly received news, Monsieur, of a certain affair in which
your son had recently the misfortune to be dangerously wounded?"
We were standing by the great marble fireplace, and Canaples was resting
one of his feet upon the huge brass andirons. He made a gesture of
impatience as I spoke.
"My son, sir, is a fool! A good-for-nothing fool! Oh, I have heard of
this affair, a vulgar tavern brawl, the fifth in which his name has been
involved and besmirched. I had news this morning by a courier dispatched
me by my friend St. Simon, who imagines that I am deeply concerned in that
young profligate. I learn that he is out of danger, and that in a month or
so, he will be about again and ready to disgrace the name of Canaples
afresh. But there, sir; I crave your pardon for the interruption."
I bowed, and when in answer to my questions he told me that he was in
ignorance of the details of the affair of which I spoke, I set about laying
those details before him. Beginning with the original provocation in the
Palais Royal and ending with the fight in the horse-market, I related the
whole story to him, but in an impersonal manner, and keeping my own name
out of my narrative.
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