Paris appears to have been little less, if not much
more, occupied last week with the sublimely ridiculous Metternich-Montebello duel than with the fall of_the Duc de Broglie. Princess Metter- nich, a woman of brave, if somewhat bizarre spirit, who, we are- sure, grievously feels being debarred from fighting her own. duels, at a reception " cuts " Count de Montebello, who incon- tinently challenges her husband. The Prince is nothing loth to fight, but denies the right of the Count to consider himself the offended party, and consequently to have choice of weapons. On the first point, there is long logomachy among the seconds, and the battle is nearly drawn, when M. de Montebello insists on conceding everything, and so fighting. Then the Prince, having established his punctilio, will not be outdone in courtesy, and surrenders his right of naming arms, where- upon the seconds decide that the weapon shall be the sword- The meeting took place at Gorches, near St. Cloud, on Friday evening last, at half-past five o'clock, the Prince having left home at his usual hour in the afternoon, without in any way exciting Madame's suspicion, and he returned in time to dress for a dinner-party, to which they went, poor M. de Montebello having been again cut in the interval,—this time with cold steel under the elbow. Such is the satisfaction due to wounded honour. It is a strange state of society in which two men, one of eminent, the other of distinguished position, can play the fool in such a way, and not apparently lose caste or consideration in consequence.
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