From time to time she said: "Where is my portrait?
Give me my portrait." It was about ten o'clock when M.Langis called on Samuel Brohl, who was not astonished to see him appear; he had hoped he would come.

Samuel had regained self-possession.

He was calm and dignified.

However, the tempest through which he had gone had left on his features some vestige of its passage.

His lips quivered, and his beautiful chestnut locks curled like serpents about his temples, and gave his head a Medusa-like appearance.
He said to Camille: "Where and when?
Our seconds will undertake the arrangement of the rest." "You mistake, monsieur, the motive of my visit," replied M.Langis.