Monsieur Durand was in the middle of composing an aria for his new opera when his servant entered the study. "Monsieur," the servant began, but he fell silent when his master held up his hand. Then, having finished the passage he was working on, Monsieur Durand put down his quill.
"Bertrand - what is it?" the composer asked.
"Monsieur, there is a gentleman to see you."
Monsieur Durand caught sight of his servant's worried expression. "There is a problem, Bertrand?"
"It is just that your visitor - ." Bertrand stopped, mid-sentence. Durand gave him a quizzical look. "It is the Comte du Lac, monsieur," Bertrand continued.
"Then," Durand said as he stood up, "you had best send him in."
Bertrand hurried off, coming back in less than a minute. "Monsieur Durand - the Comte du Lac!" he announced.
A florid-faced man, dressed in a velvet greatcoat and breeches, pushed Bernard aside. "You!" he roared, pointing at Monsieur Durand. "You cur!"
"And a good day to you, Monsieur le Comte," the composer replied. "To what do I owe the honour?"
The comte advanced, brandishing a crumpled sheet of paper in his fist. "It is no honour, sir! You know full well that it is to do with this scandalous work of yours! Scandalous - and libellous! I shall have you in court, sir!"
Monsieur Durand snatched the piece of paper form the noble's hand. "Oh!" he laughed. "My dear sir! This is but a character in a comic opera. A buffoon of a nobleman, but definitely a work of fiction."
The Comte du Lac growled at this. "Then why do the ladies of the street point at me and sing this chorus, sir? Eh, sir?"
Durand tossed the paper aside. "Perhaps the comte is projecting? If so -."
A ringing slap echoed across the study, causing Bertrand to wince, as the comte's hand lashed out and struck Durand across his face. "I will not stand for this insult! Tomorrow we shall meet on the field of honour - the Bois de Boulogne at noon!"
Durand wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth with a lace handkerchief. "Bertrand?"
"I regret, monsieur, that you already have an engagement at that hour. And at one else, monsieur, should you survive."
"Indeed." Durand nodded then turned to the comte. "Two o'clock then, Monsieur le Comte?"
The noble worked his mouth like a gasping fish before his mind found the right words. "As you wish - sir! We shall settle our score then."
The two men bowed, then Bertrand escorted the nobleman out. Durand called after the servant, "Bertrand?"
"Monsieur?"
"How many is that who have taken offence?"
The servant bowed to hide his expression. "I have not been keeping count, monsieur."
