“Yesterday, in the woods near Vincennes, a duel with swords was fought
between M. M. de B---- and one of the most distinguished members of our
American colony. After five minutes’ close combat, M. E---- was wounded
in the arm. It is said that the sudden and very surprising disappearance
of one of the greatest heiresses of the Faubourg Saint Germain was not
foreign to this duel. Lucky M. de B---- is reported to know too much of
the beautiful young lady’s present home for the peace of the family.
But surely these lines ought to be more than enough on the subject of
an adventure which will ere long, no doubt, end in a happy and brilliant
marriage.”
“You see, madam,” said M. de Brevan, when he thought Henrietta had
had time enough to read the article, “you see it is not I who advise
marriage. If you will become my wife, your honor is safe.”
“Ah, sir!”
In that simple utterance there was so much contempt, and such profound
disgust, that M. de Brevan seemed to turn, if possible, whiter than
before.
“Ah! I see you prefer marrying M. Thomas Elgin,” he said.