The two friends walked on a long time in silence. Clamens, rather
disappointed by the provincial’s obstinate peculiarities, said
to himself, “Eusebe is a simpleton.” On his part, the provincial
reflected, “Daniel is a sage.” And, as they were both profoundly in
error, each remained convinced that he had hit upon the truth. At
the moment of separation, Daniel said to his refractory pupil,--
“I will see you again, my friend. At a later day you will regret
that you have not heeded my counsel. Do not forget, however, that I
am always ready to resume my course of instruction.”
“Thank you,” responded Eusebe. “Your goodness touches me nearly,
and----” The remainder of the sentence was lost in a sudden murmur.
Dropping the hand of his friend, young Martin passed rapidly on to
where a group of young men were seated before the door of the Café
Tortoni.
“What is the matter?” asked Daniel, who followed him.
“Do you not hear?” said Eusebe, apparently agitated.
“Yes,” said one of the young men; “Adéonne is a fascinating
creature. During the week that I have enjoyed her acquaintance, I
have been able to comprehend the desperate love that has inspired
that old fool Fontournay.”
“Did you say, monsieur,” demanded Eusebe, pale and trembling, “that
you have lived with Adéonne for a week?”
“I have said what I pleased,” haughtily responded the young man. “I
do not know that I am accountable to you for what I say.”
“I ask nothing of you,” rejoined Eusebe. “I only wish you to repeat
your words, in order that I may tell you that you lie. If you do
not repeat your words, it is of no consequence. I say that you have
lied.”
And, taking Clamens by the arm, the indignant provincial moved away.
“This is a bad business,” said the poet.
“Why?”
“You will soon see.”
At this moment a young man of irreproachable elegance advanced to
the lover of Adéonne.
“Monsieur,” said he to Eusebe, saluting him with exquisite
politeness, “my friend the Count de la Soulaye deputes me to remind
you that you have given him the lie in public, and have omitted to
leave your card.”
Eusebe was about to reply, when Clamens stepped before him.
“Monsieur,” said the poet, “oblige me by giving my address to M. de
la Soulaye. My friend M. Eusebe Martin, of the Capelette, in the
fury of anger, has forgotten to leave his card. Here is mine. Until
to-morrow at noon we shall be at your disposal.”
“I thank you,” said the young man, exchanging cards with the
dramatist; and then, bowing politely, he rejoined his friends.
“And now,” said Eusebe, “will you tell me, my good Clamens, what
this exchange of cards signifies?”
“Alas! It means that you will fight M. de la Soulaye to-morrow.”
“I fight? How?”
“With swords, sabres, or pistols, as he may see fit. He has the
choice of weapons, since you gave the insult.”
“For Heaven’s sake, my friend, do not mock me!”
“Nothing can be more serious. Unfortunately, I am not joking,”
replied Clamens, sadly. “I foresaw that you would do something of
which you knew not the consequences. Now that the evil is done,
there is no help for it: you must fight: the laws of honor, or
rather the laws of society, oblige you to do so.”
“What!” exclaimed Eusebe, with vehemence; “I encounter in my walk a
wretch who slanders in the most infamous style a woman whom I love
and whom I had quitted but a moment previous. I could pulverize
this fellow with my fists, but refrain, because his shameful
conduct awakens only contempt. I am content to tell him that he
lies. And now I am forced to fight with this infamous scoundrel,
and, as you say, to put myself at his disposal, and accept the
weapons with which he is familiar, but which I have never used!
Really, this cannot be so! it is barbarous!”
“But it is so, my dear fellow. I repeat, the laws of honor are
inflexible.”
“The laws of honor! What honor? It is not I who have broken these
laws, if any such exist: he is the guilty party.”
“Listen, Eusebe,” rejoined Clamens, gravely. “You have defended
the reputation of Adéonne; and in so doing you have acted nobly,
not only because she is your mistress, but because she is a
noble creature who loves you with all her heart. Yes, you have
acted nobly. I also am convinced that La Soulaye has lied like a
pickpocket. But in telling him so you did him an injury for which
he has a right to demand reparation in the field. If you refuse to
fight, you will be regarded as a coward, and the world will believe
that he has truth and right on his side. I have made myself your
second in this affair. I do not regret the step thus taken, and, if
you refuse to fight, I will take your place.”
“Why so?”
“The laws of honor force me to do so.”
“I will fight,” said Eusebe, resolutely; “but may the devil fly
away with me if I can comprehend what you call the laws of honor!”