A hundred yards brought me to the corner of this famous street, and
twenty more to the front of Number 9, a large crazy looking house, that
had the appearance of a common hotel, or cheap boarding-house.
The door stood open, and I could see down a long dark hall. But there
was no knocker. A brass-handled bell appeared to be the substitute,
under which were the words--"_Tirez la sonette_."
I climbed the ricketty steps and rang. A slatternly female--a mulatto--
half asleep, came slippering along the hall; and, on reaching the door,
drawled out:--"_Que voulez vous, Mosheu_?"
"Does Monsieur Despard live here?"
"Moss'r Despard? _Oui--oui_."
"Will you have the goodness to say that a gentleman wishes a word with
him?"
The girl had not time to reply, before a side door was heard creaking
open, and a head and shoulders were protruded into the hall. They were
those of a man.
Though the hair of the head was tossed and frowsy, and the shirt that
covered the shoulders looked as if it had passed through the "beggar's
mangle," I had no difficulty in recognising the wearer. It was Monsieur
Despard--Monsieur Despard _en deshabille_.
The gentleman evidently regretted his imprudence, and would have
withdrawn himself from view. The shirt and shoulders had already
disappeared behind the screening of the lintel; but, before the head
could be backed in, I had stepped over the threshold and "nailed him" to
an interview.
"Monsieur Despard, I believe?" was the interrogative style of my
salutation.
"_Oui, M'sseu_. What is your business?"
"Rather a strange question for you to put, Monsieur Despard. Perhaps
you do not remember me?"
"Perfectly."
"And what occurred at our first interview?"
"Equally well--that you were accompanied by a drunken brute who
calumniated me."
"It is not becoming to vilify a gentleman after he has given you his
card. Of course you intend to challenge him?"
"Of course I intend nothing of the sort. _Parbleu! M'sseu_, I should
have a busy time of it, were I to notice the babble of every drunken
brawler. I can pardon the slang of sling drinkers."
I had discovered by this time that Monsieur Despard spoke English as
fluently as he did French, and also that he was perfectly versed in the
slang epithets of our language.
"Come, Monsieur," said I, "this grandeur will not screen you. It shall
be my duty to repeat your elegant phraseology to my friend, who I can
promise will not pardon _you_."
"That don't signify."
"If you are not disposed to _send_ a challenge, you will be compelled to
_receive_ one."
"Oh! that is different. I shall be most happy to accept it."
"It would save time if you give me the address of your second."
"Time enough after I have received the challenge."
"In two hours, then, I shall demand it."
"_Tres bien, M'sseu_."
And with a stiff bow the _caput_ of Monsieur Despard disappeared into
the dark doorway.
Turning away, I descended the creaking steps, and walked back along the
Rue Dauphin.
On reaching the corner of Rue Royale, I paused to reflect. I had ample
food for reflection--sufficient almost to bewilder me. Within ten
minutes I had succeeded in filling my hands with business enough to last
me for the whole of that day and a portion of the next. The object of
my halting, therefore, was that I might think over this business, and if
possible arrange it into some kind of a definite programme.
An open cabaret close by offered an empty chair and a table. This
invited me to enter; and, seating myself inside, I called for some
claret and a cigar. These promised to lend a certain perspicuity to my
thoughts, that would enable me to set my proceedings in some order.
My first thought was a feeling of regret at having promised Monsieur
Despard to call again. I knew that Casey would insist upon a meeting--
all the more pertinaciously on hearing what had passed--and I was now
more than ever convinced of the absurdity of such a step. What had he
to gain by fighting with such a man? Certainly not his watch, and as
certainly there was no credit to be derived from such an encounter.
What I had just seen and heard, perfectly satisfied me that we were not
dealing with a gentleman. The appearance of Monsieur Despard in his
morning deshabille--his vulgar behaviour and language--the
_mise-en-scene_ in the midst of which I had found him--and above all the
nonchalant bravado with which he had treated Casey's serious charge
against him--convinced me that the charge was true; and that instead of
a gentleman we had to do with a _chevalier d'industrie_.
What, then, could Casey gain in measuring weapons with a character of
this kind? Certainly nothing to his advantage.
On the other hand he might lose in the encounter, and in all probability
he would.
A very painful reflection entered my mind as I dwelt upon this. If the
fellow had designed it, he could not have exhibited more skill in
bringing circumstances about in his favour; and only now did it occur to
me the advantage we had given him. The positions of the parties had
become entirely reversed. His adversary now held the citadel: Casey was
to be the assailant. If the Frenchman intended to stand up--and under
the altered circumstances it was likely he would--I feared for the
result. He would have the right of choice; the rapier would
unquestionably be the weapon chosen; and from the inexorable laws of the
duello there would be no appeal.
As these considerations ran hurriedly through my mind, I began to feel
sincerely anxious about the consequences; and blamed myself for
permitting my temper--a little frayed by the insulting language--to
betray me into, what I now regarded as, a manifest imprudence. "_Facile
decensus averni, sed revocare gradum_."
There was no retreating from the step I had taken. Casey's antagonist
might be a gambler, a swindler, a suspected thief, but in New Orleans--
more especially at the time of which I write--these titles would not rob
him of the right to demand the treatment of a gentleman--that is, if he
offered to fight as one.
We had gone too far. I knew that we were so compromised that we must
carry the thing to an end.
I had but one hope; and this was that Monsieur Despard might after all
prove a _bavard_, and show the white feather.
I must confess, however, that this hope was a very faint one. If the
fellow had impressed me with an idea of his vulgarity, he had said or
done nothing that could lead me to question his courage.
Up to this time, the tumult of my thoughts had hindered me from dwelling
upon my odd encounter with the young avocat. Since it had only happened
fifteen minutes before, of course, I had not forgotten it; and the
affair of my friend being, in my mind, now arranged, it became necessary
to attend to my own.
So ludicrous was the whole _contretemps_, that I could scarcely restrain
laughter when I thought of it; but there was also a serious side to the
question, calculated to prevent any free ebullition of mirth.
Already, perhaps, Monsieur De Hauteroche's messenger was on his way to
the Saint Charles Hotel; and, on arriving there, I might find that
besides having to play the easy _metier_ of second in a duel, I should
be called upon to enact the more serious _role_ of a "principal."
_Might_ find! there was no _might_ in the matter. I was as certain of
it as if I already carried the challenge in my pocket.
I could not help reflecting upon the very awkward dilemma, into which a
moment of evil indulgence had plunged both my friend and myself, and
upon the very threshold of new world life. It seemed that we were to be
initiated into its mysteries by a baptism of blood!
I was less uneasy about my own affair. My chief source of regret was,
my having given pain and offence to a young gentleman, who appeared to
be one of delicate susceptibility. Certainly my strange behaviour must
have astonished him, as much as the after finding of his counterpart,
and the resemblance between them, astonished _me_.
The likeness was really remarkable--though less than it would have been,
had Monsieur Despard been in full toilette, as I had first viewed him.
The scar upon his cheek, moreover, I now observed and remembered. Why
had I not thought of it before?
With regard to my affair with Monsieur De Hauteroche, the course was
simple and clear: an unqualified apology. I only hesitated as to the
when and where to make it.
Should I go on to the hotel and meet his second? That would be a more
ceremonious way of proceeding--the most _en regle_.
But the apology would require an explanation--the embroglio was curious
and complicated--and the explanation could only be properly understood
by giving the details _viva voce_.
I resolved, therefore, to waive all ceremony, and, trusting to the
generosity of my accidental enemy, to return to him _in propria
persona_.
Quaffing off my claret; and flinging away the stump of my cigar, I
walked directly to Number 16, Rue Royale.
To my gratification I found the young _avocat_ in his office; and I was
further satisfied by perceiving that I was in good time. No message had
yet been sent to the Saint Charles--though I had no doubt that the
military-looking gentleman whom I met in the office was upon the eve of
such an errand. My appearance must have been as little expected as that
of the "man in the moon."
I shall not trouble the reader by detailing the apology. The
explanation is known already. Suffice it to say, that when Monsieur De
Hauteroche heard it, he not only acted in the true spirit of a
gentleman; but, from an enemy, became transformed into a friend.
Perceiving that I was a stranger, he generously invited me to renew my
visit; and, with a hearty laugh at the _outre_ style of our
introduction, we parted.
Casey's more serious affair was still upon my mind; and I hurried home
to the hotel.
As I expected, Casey _would_ send the challenge; and, as I almost
confidently anticipated, the other _accepted_ it. It ended in a duel,
and I need hardly add that swords were the weapons.
I refrain from giving a description of this duel, which differed only
from about a million of others--minutely described by romance writers--
in being one of the very shortest of combats. At the very first passage
Casey received (and I esteemed it very fortunate that he did so) his
adversary's sword through the muscles of his right arm--completely
disabling him. That was all the satisfaction he ever got for the loss
of his repeater!
Of course this rude thrust ended the combat; and Monsieur Jacques
Despard marched off the ground without a scratch upon his person or a
blemish on his name.
Casey, however, still asserted--though, of course, not publicly--"that
the fellow took the watch;" and I afterwards found good reason to
believe he _did_ take it.
Story 2, Chapter VII.