MR. CALVERT FIGHTS A DUEL
The welcome which Mr. Calvert received at the Legation was even more
cordial than he had dared to hope for, Mr. Morris being surprised and
delighted beyond measure by the young man's sudden arrival. As for
Calvert, the sight of his old friend and the cheerful, sumptuous air of
the new Legation, where Mr. Morris was but just established, were
inexpressibly pleasant.
"I think you have a talent for making yourself comfortable even in the
midst of horrors," he said, looking about the brilliantly lit
drawing-room, for Mr. Morris was expecting a large company to supper.
"In these rooms I can scarcely believe I have been for days travelling
through a country strangely and terribly changed since I last saw it--so
desolate and soldier-ridden and suspicious that I am truly glad to get
within these walls. And to-night, when my passport had been examined for
the hundredth time since leaving Havre and we had passed the city
barrier, I thought the very look and sound of these streets of Paris had
changed utterly in the last two years."
"And indeed they have, Ned," returned Mr. Morris, earnestly. "Each day
sees that difference grow more and more marked, more and more terrible.
Anarchy and bloodshed are becoming rampant, all semblance of order is
gone. The rest of the diplomatic corps look upon me as a madman to come
here at this time and set up a legation. _They_ are asking for their
passports--the Spanish Minister withdrew yesterday and Lord Gower is in
the devil of a fright," he says, laughing. "But as for myself, I have no
fear and shall uphold the interests and independence of the American
Legation to the last gasp. God only knows whether this house will prove
a protection, but, in all events, I shall not abandon it, nor my friends
here, voluntarily," he adds, intrepidly. "I could have wished, however,
boy, that events had kept you out of France just now. Though I urged you
to accompany me, when I returned and realized the awful state of affairs
here, I was heartily glad you had not yielded to my wishes."
"As it happened, though," said Calvert, "events have brought me," and in
a few words he told Mr. Morris of all that had occurred at the house of
Monsieur de la Luzerne, and of the uneasiness he felt at the manner and
threats of St. Aulaire.
"He is capable of any villany. We must thresh this matter out to-morrow,
Ned. Had I known you were coming I would have had no guests here
to-night. We could have had a quiet evening together, and I could have
shown you over my new establishment. All this must wait, however, and
now you had best go to your room and dress for supper." But Mr. Calvert,
begging to be excused from the company that evening, and saying that he
would go out by himself and get a look at this changed Paris, left Mr.
Morris to entertain his guests, who were beginning to arrive.
"I would offer you my carriage," said Mr. Morris, as the young man
turned away, "but 'twere best you walked abroad. Carriages are but
little the fashion these days--they are being rapidly abolished along
with everything else that makes life comfortable in this city."
Mr. Calvert went out into the dimly lit street that, despite the hour,
was full of a restless throng of people, who seemed to be wandering
about as aimlessly as himself. Here and there he encountered squads of
the National Guard being manoeuvred by their lieutenants, here and there
mobs of ragged men, shouting and cursing and bearing torches which
rained sparks of fire as they were swung aloft, and once, as he passed
the Abbaie St. Germain des Prés, a horrible throng pressed by him,
holding high in their midst a head on a dripping pike. He turned away,
sick at the sight, and, making his way down by the quays, crossed by the
Pont Royal to the other side of the city. He stopped for an instant on
the bridge to look down the river, and, as he did so, he recalled that
Christmas Eve two years before when he and Mr. Morris had stood on that
same spot. Much, very much, had happened since; it seemed as if both a
long and a short time had elapsed; perhaps, the greatest difference he
felt was that then he had been eager to leave Paris; now he was relieved
to be back. He strolled along under the glittering stars and the
fast-sailing clouds, through ill-lighted streets and past deserted
mansions whose owners were in voluntary exile beyond the Rhine, until he
suddenly bethought himself of a little café in the Champs Elysées not
far from the Demi-Lune du Cours de la Reine, where he and Mr. Jefferson
and Mr. Morris had often gone together. It occurred to him that he was
both thirsty and a little tired, and that he would turn in there for
something to drink and to see what might be happening.
Not much was happening, for a wonder. The gusty March wind, sweeping
through the gardens and under the lighted arcades, seemed to have swept
away the usual throng of strollers in the Champs Elysées. Even the café
was deserted except for a small group in a far corner of the room, which
Mr. Calvert scarce noticed as he passed in. A cheerful fire was burning
in an open grate, near which were set a screen and a settle. Mr. Calvert
ensconced himself comfortably in this cosy corner and, calling for a
glass of wine, fell to reading the day's copy of the _Moniteur_ lying on
the table beside him. But his thoughts were other-where than with the
account of the Assembly's proceedings. Although he was in Paris and near
the woman he loved, he was as greatly in the dark as ever as to what
course to pursue to protect her. He knew not in what direction to turn,
seeing that he knew not what danger threatened. After he had seen St.
Aulaire, pressing affairs had detained him in London three days before
he could set out for Paris. He knew not whether that worthy had arrived
there before him or not--whether he intended to return to Paris at all
or to work through some secret agency. A thousand vague plans for
discovering these things floated through his mind and were rejected one
after the other. All were alike in one respect--she must not know, if
possible, that he was rendering her any service. Though he realized that
this danger hanging over her endeared her to him a thousand times more
than ever, though the chivalry of his nature impelled him to serve her,
he knew she did not love him, nor ever could, and all the pride and
hardness of youth made him resolve to guard his secret more jealously
than ever. He had humbled himself once before her and she had treated
him lightly, indifferently, contemptuously, and he had no mind to suffer
a second humiliation.
Upon one thing he was resolved--that he would see d'Azay in the morning
and discover if he knew of any peril that threatened. As this thought
passed through his mind he suddenly heard d'Azay's name distinctly
pronounced from the other side of the room. He laid the copy of the
_Moniteur_, which he had been turning in his hands, quietly down upon
the table and listened. The voices from the corner, which had been low
and confused on his entrance, were now louder and bolder. Either the
speakers did not know that they were not alone or else the wine had made
them careless.
"'Tis a pleasure I have long had in contemplation and which has become
peculiarly dear to me of late," and the speaker laughed mockingly. "I
shall denounce d'Azay to-morrow."
Calvert started and looked hurriedly through the small panel of glass at
the top of the screen. Even before he looked he knew he was not
mistaken--St. Aulaire sat at the table with three companions, and it was
he who had spoken. Two of the men--one of them had a most villainous
countenance--Calvert had never seen before, but the third one he
discovered, to his intense surprise, was Bertrand--Bertrand, whose
honest lackey's face now wore a curious and sinister look of power and
importance. So, it was in the society of such that Monsieur de St.
Aulaire now talked and drank familiarly!
"He has already been denounced and released," says Bertrand, moodily.
"He will not be released this time," replies St. Aulaire, with so much
evident satisfaction as to strike one of the other two drinkers with
astonishment.
"Not entirely a matter of patriotism, I judge?" he questioned, with a
chuckle.
"A duty I owe myself as well as to my country," says St. Aulaire, so
much mocking meaning in his voice and glance that his three listeners
fell to laughing.
"There is a lady to whom I owe a small debt of ingratitude, and I like
best to settle the case in this fashion."
So that was his method of punishment! To strike Adrienne through her
brother--to spare her and take away all that she loved! Calvert thought
'twas a way worthy of its author, and so strong a desire took possession
of him to leap upon St. Aulaire and strike him dead that he caught hold
of the sides of the chair to restrain himself.
"But you are not a member of the Assembly," objected the man who had
hitherto kept silent.
"I have observed that a denunciation from the gallery is more dramatic
and effective than one from the floor. Besides, there is no one just at
present to do it for me. I am well prepared. When I rise to-morrow and
call the attention of Monsieur de Gensonné to the fact that I have proof
of the treasonable relations of Monsieur d'Azay with the chiefs of the
counter-revolutionists across the Rhine, 'twill be as if Monsieur d'Azay
already stood condemned before the bar of the Assembly," and he struck
the table with his clinched fist.
While the glasses were still rattling from the blow and St. Aulaire's
companions laughing at his vehemence, Mr. Calvert made his decision. By
St. Aulaire's own confession there was no one else interested, for the
moment, at least, in denouncing d'Azay. If he were out of the way that
denunciation would not take place and d'Azay might be got out of Paris.
At all hazards and at all costs St. Aulaire must not go to the Assembly
on the next day. At all hazards and at all costs St. Aulaire must not
know that he, Calvert, desired to prevent his going. He must be
surprised, driven to his own destruction, if it could be done.
Very quietly Calvert arose from his place by the fire, and, passing out
by a door concealed from the rest of the room by the screen, he made his
way through a vestibule, where he put on his coat and hat again and so
back into the room he had just left. But this time he entered noisily
and by an entrance near the table, at which were seated St. Aulaire and
his friends. At sight of St. Aulaire Mr. Calvert affected an extreme
surprise. He bowed low, and smiling, but without a word, he advanced to
him and, drawing off his heavy glove, struck him with it across his
flushed face. The four sprang to their feet, and Bertrand, recognizing
Calvert, called out, "Monsieur--Monsieur Calvert!" All his airs of
equality and importance fell from him, and he ran toward his former
master, but Calvert waved him aside.
"The last time Monsieur de St. Aulaire and I met, gentlemen," says
Calvert, looking around contemptuously at the company, "he insulted me
grossly. Unfortunately he was drunk--drunk, I repeat it, and in no
condition to answer for himself. I demand satisfaction to-night."
"And, by God! you shall have it," cried St. Aulaire, half beside
himself. His face was quite white now except for the red mark across it,
which Calvert's blow had furrowed, and his eyes were wild and staring.
The suddenness and fierceness of Calvert's attack had driven every
thought out of his mind but the wish to avenge the insult offered him,
and almost without a word more the party left the room and went out into
one of the allées of the Champs Elysées close beside the café. Such
affairs were so common in the Champs Elysées and elsewhere in Paris in
those days that, though they were but a few feet from the public
thoroughfare, they apprehended no interference from the guard or the
passers-by. 'Twas the aristocratic mode of helping forward the
revolution, and there were almost as many victims by it as by the more
republican one of la lanterne and the pike.
Though it was the first affair of honor that Calvert had ever been
engaged in, the compelling necessity he was under and that unusual
steadiness and calmness of character he possessed rendered him less
nervous and more master of himself than was the older man, who had had
numberless affairs of the kind.
"Will you choose swords or will you fight in the English mode with
pistols?" said Calvert, with another low bow to St. Aulaire.
"Both, by God!" shouted St. Aulaire. "We will follow the lead of
Bazencourt and St. Luce!" But here Bertrand and another of his
companions interfered (the third and villainous-looking fellow said
nothing and seemed indifferent on the subject), and declared they could
not be party to murder, and that terrible affair had been no less. It
had been known and talked of all over Paris, the shameful conditions
being--that the combatants should fight first with swords, and the one
who fell, and fell wounded only, was to have his brains blown out by the
other.
One of the company brought from the house a lantern and a pair of
English pistols, and both agreeing to fight with them, and the ground
being hastily measured, the two gentlemen threw off their coats and took
up their positions. The light was so uncertain from the occasional
fitful brightness of the moon shining through the clouds and the light
from the swaying lantern, held aloft by Bertrand, who took his stand
near Calvert and watched him with his old devotion, that 'twas almost
impossible for either combatant to take accurate aim.
At the word "Fire!" both pistols cracked, and St. Aulaire, staggering
forward a few steps, fell, wounded in the groin. Calvert was untouched,
but before he could collect himself or move to the assistance of St.
Aulaire, he suddenly heard the sound of coach-wheels passing close to
the allée, and, at the same instant, to his astonishment, he felt a
sharp pain tear its way from his left shoulder to the wrist. He turned
his head an instant to see who had attacked him from this unexpected
quarter and was just in time to see the scoundrel who had been in St.
Aulaire's company throw down his stained sword and make for the
boulevard. And then as he reeled forward, the blood spurting from the
long gash in his arm, all grew black before him and he knew no more.