THE DUEL.
On seeing the Marquis de Maillefort lock the door of the apartment, M.
de Mornand partially divined the hunchback's intentions, and any
lingering doubts he may have felt were promptly dispelled when the
marquis untied his cravat and hastily divested himself of both coat and
waistcoat, to the great astonishment of Gerald, who had just turned to
approach him with an open box of cigars in his hand.
Almost at the same instant, the marquis, pointing to two swords hanging
with the other weapons on the shield, said to the young man:
"My dear Gerald, have the goodness to measure those swords with M. de
Ravil, and give the longest to my adversary if there is any difference
in them. You know the proverb, 'Hunchbacks have long arms.'"
"What!" exclaimed Gerald, in profound astonishment, "those swords?"
"Certainly, my friend. This is the situation in two words. That
gentleman (pointing to Mornand) has just been extremely impertinent to
me. He refused to apologise, and the time has now passed when I would
accept any apology, even if he would consent to make it. There is
consequently nothing for us to do but fight. You will act as my second;
M. de Ravil will act in the same capacity for M. de Mornand, and we will
settle our differences here and now."
Then, turning to his antagonist, the marquis added:
"Come, monsieur, off with your coat. Gerald has only a quarter of an
hour to spare, and we must make the most of it."
"What a pity Olivier could not witness this scene!" thought Gerald, who
had recovered from his astonishment, and who now began to regard the
adventure as extremely piquant, the more so as he had very little
sympathy for Messieurs Mornand and Ravil, and a very warm affection for
the marquis.
But though the hunchback had made this open declaration of war, M. de
Ravil turned to Gerald, and said, in a tone of profound conviction:
"You must feel that such a duel as this is entirely out of the question,
M. le duc?"
"And why, monsieur?" inquired Gerald, dryly.
"Thanks, Gerald," exclaimed the marquis. "The swords, my friend, quick,
the swords!"
"But think of permitting such an encounter in your mother's house! It
must not be, M. le duc. Think of it, a duel, in a room in your house,
and for the most trivial cause," insisted Ravil, as he saw Gerald walk
to the panel and take down the swords.
"I consider myself the sole judge of the propriety of what occurs in my
apartments," retorted Gerald. "There are numerous instances of similar
duels, are there not, M. de Mornand?"
"Any place is suitable for avenging an affront, M. le duc," was the
prompt and angry reply.
"Bravo! the Cid never made a better retort!" exclaimed the hunchback.
"Come, my dear M. de Mornand, off with your coat! It is hardly fair that
I, who am not exactly modelled after the Apollo Belvedere, should be the
first to strip."
M. de Mornand, at his wit's end, pulled off his coat.
"I absolutely refuse to act as second in such a duel," shouted M. de
Ravil.
"You can do as you please about that," responded the hunchback. "I have
the key of the door in my pocket, but you can look out of the window, or
beat a tattoo upon the pane, if you prefer. That little act of bravado
might have a good effect on M. de Mornand, perhaps."
"De Ravil, measure the swords, I beg of you," cried the other principal
in the affair.
"You insist?"
"I do."
"So be it,--but you are mad."
Then, turning to Gerald, he added, "You are taking a great
responsibility upon yourself, monsieur."
"That will do, monsieur," replied Gerald, coldly.
The proverb the marquis had quoted seemed a true one, for, when that
gentleman rolled his shirt-sleeve up above his elbow, there was
disclosed to view a long, thin, but sinewy arm, upon which the muscles
stood out like whipcords, while his opponent's arm was plump and soft.
The outcome of the encounter was apparent from the manner in which the
antagonists fell into position, and in which they crossed blades, when
Gerald, after having exchanged glances with Ravil, gave the signal for
the combat to begin.
Not that M. de Mornand evinced any signs of cowardice! On the contrary,
he manifested the courage which any well-bred man is almost sure to
display, but he was unmistakably nervous, and, though he showed a fair
knowledge of fencing, his play was characterised by excessive prudence.
He held himself out of reach as much as possible, and always upon the
defensive, parrying his antagonist's thrusts skilfully enough, but never
attacking.
[Illustration: Ran His Blade Through His Antagonist's Right Arm]
For a single instant Ravil, and even Gerald, were terrified at the
expression of ferocious hatred that overspread the features of the
marquis when he confronted his adversary, but, suddenly recovering
himself, he became the same gay, mocking cynic as at the beginning
of this strange scene, and, as the look of sullen rage he had
concentrated upon M. de Mornand softened, his thrusts became less
violent and murderous, and, at last, wishing doubtless to end the
affair, he made a feint. M. de Mornand responded ingenuously, whereupon
his opponent, with a quick, upward thrust, ran his blade through his
antagonist's right arm.
At the sight of blood, Gerald and Ravil both sprang forward, exclaiming:
"Enough, gentlemen, enough!"
Both men lowered their swords on hearing this exclamation, and the
marquis said, in a clear voice:
"I declare myself satisfied; I will even humbly beg your pardon--for
being a hunchback, M. de Mornand. It is the only excuse I can reasonably
offer you."
"It is sufficient, monsieur," said M. de Mornand, with a bitter smile,
while Gerald and De Ravil bound up the wounded arm with the aid of a
handkerchief.
This done, the two men re-dressed themselves, after which M. de
Maillefort said to M. de Mornand:
"Will you grant me the favour of a moment's conversation in another
room?"
"I am at your service."
"Will you permit it, Gerald?"
"Certainly," replied the young duke.
The two gentlemen having stepped into Gerald's bedroom, the hunchback
said, in his usual mocking way:
"Though it may be in very poor taste to speak of one's generosity, my
dear sir, I am obliged to admit that for a minute or two I felt strongly
inclined to kill you, and that it would have been a very easy matter for
me to do it."
"You should have availed yourself of the opportunity, monsieur."
"But I reflected--"
"And with what object?"
"You will excuse me, I am sure, for not opening my whole heart to you,
but permit me to beg that you will consider the slight wound you have
just received merely an aid to memory."
"I do not understand you in the least, monsieur."
"You know, of course, that one often places a bit of paper in one's
snuff-box, or ties a knot in the corner of one's handkerchief, to remind
one of a rendezvous or a promise."
"Yes, monsieur; and what of it, may I ask?"
"I am strongly in hopes that the slight wound which I have just given
you in the arm will serve as such an effectual reminder that the date of
this little episode will never be effaced from your memory."
"And why are you so desirous that this date should be indelibly engraved
upon my memory?"
"The explanation is very simple. I wish to fix the date in your memory
in an ineffaceable manner,--because it is quite possible that I shall
some time have occasion to remind you of _all you have said_ this
afternoon."
"Remind me of all I have said this afternoon?"
"Yes, monsieur, and in the presence of irrefutable witnesses that I
shall summon in case of need."
"I understand you less and less, monsieur."
"I see no particular advantage in your understanding me any better just
at this time, my dear sir, so you must permit me to take leave of you,
and go and bid my friend Gerald good-bye."
It is easy to comprehend that the real cause of M. de Maillefort's
challenge to M. de Mornand was the insulting manner in which that
gentleman had spoken of Madame de Beaumesnil, for the latter's
suspicions were correct, and it was the hunchback who, unseen, had
cried, "Scoundrel!" on hearing M. de Mornand's coarse words.
But why had M. de Maillefort, who was usually so frank and outspoken,
taken this roundabout way to secure a pretext for avenging the insult
offered to Madame de Beaumesnil? And what could be his object in wishing
to remind M. de Mornand of this special day, and in perhaps calling him
to account for all he had just said in the presence of reliable
witnesses?
These questions will be satisfactorily answered as the story proceeds.
The Marquis de Maillefort had just bidden Gerald good-bye, when one of
the servants brought the young duke the following letter, written by
Olivier that same morning.
* * * * *
"MY GOOD GERALD:--'Man proposes and God disposes,' and last night,
Providence, in the shape of my worthy master mason, decided that I must
absent myself from Paris for a fortnight or three weeks, and I am truly
sorry, for there can be no repetition of our pleasant dinner-party of
yesterday for a long time to come.
"The fact is, my master mason is a very poor arithmetician, and he has
become so mixed up in his specifications for some work he is to do in a
chateau near Luzarches that it is impossible for me to make head or tail
of his figures. For me to be able to cast any light on this portentous
gloom, I shall be obliged to go through a host of measurements which I
shall have to take myself, if I would avoid more puzzles, and this will
necessitate a prolonged absence, I fear. I never told you, did I? that
my master mason was formerly a sergeant in the engineer corps, a brave,
honest, plain, kind-hearted man, and you know that life with people of
that sort is easy and pleasant. One of my chief reasons, too, for going
to his assistance is that, so far as I am able to judge, he is cheating
himself badly,--such a rare thing in these days that I shall not be
sorry to verify the fact.
"I leave my uncle--what a heart of gold he has, hasn't he?--with no
little anxiety. Ever since Madame Barbancon was brought back to us in
Madame de Beaumesnil's superb equipage she has been in a truly alarming
frame of mind, and I tremble for my uncle's digestion. She has not so
much as mentioned Bonaparte's name, and seems to be in a brown study all
the time,--pauses thoughtfully in the garden, and every now and then
stands stock-still in her kitchen with eyes fixed upon vacancy. She gave
us sour milk this morning, and the eggs were like leather. So take heed,
my dear Gerald, if you should happen to drop in at meal-time. It is
evident, too, that Madame Barbancon is burning with a desire to be
questioned concerning the particulars of her recent visit, but very
naturally my uncle and I avoid the subject, as there is really something
strange and even incomprehensible about the affair.
"If you have time, drop in and see my uncle. It would please him very
much, for he will miss me sadly, I fear, and he has taken a great fancy
to you. What ineffable kindness of heart and unswerving uprightness of
soul are concealed beneath his plain exterior! Ah, my dear Gerald, I
have never craved wealth for myself, but I tremble to think that, at his
age and with his infirmities, my uncle will have more and more
difficulty in living on his modest pay, in spite of all the little
privations he endures so courageously. And if he should become really
ill,--for two of his wounds reopen frequently,--sickness is so hard upon
the poor? Ah, Gerald, the thought is a cruel one to me.
"Forgive me, my friend and brother. I began this letter cheerfully, and
it has become really funereal in tone. Good-bye, Gerald, good-bye. Write
me at Luzarches.
"Yours devotedly,
"OLIVIER RAYMOND."