THE JUDGMENT OF GOD
Some hours later Captain d'Haumont was back again in the de la Boulays'
country house.
He had left it with the firm determination never to return to it
whatever it might cost him. And now he was strolling once more through
the avenues of the park with a secret satisfaction which he made no
attempt to conceal. He must have been impelled by a powerful motive,
doubtless, to set at naught so quickly a line of conduct which he had
ruthlessly marked out for himself, but it was a motive which, in all
sincerity, he had no cause to regret.
It would have needed very little persuasion to induce Captain d'Haumont
to confess that he blessed the startling occurrences the outcome of
which was that he beheld once more the faces and places which filled so
large a part in his heart.
An imperative duty impelled him to cross that garden gate. He had
nothing to reproach himself with. Treason lay concealed in that house;
and he had to unmask it.
Since he had all but fallen a prey to the mysterious gang who had
pursued him so far as the neighborhood of the Hotel d'Or, the Captain
was convinced that the scheme which his villainous aggressors were
carrying out was planned at M. de la Boulays' house. It was the only
place where the hidden enemy might have overheard something to indicate
the importance of the secret mission with which he had been charged. In
a word, Captain d'Haumont believed that the Château de la Boulays was
the center of a spy system. He called to mind that, as he left M. de la
Boulays' study the night before, he almost stumbled over Schwab, whose
attitude had always seemed suspicious. Some few minutes later, at the
moment of leaving the house, he caught a glimpse of two dark forms in
conversation in the park, one of whom was undoubtedly Schwab and the
other curiously suggestive of de Gorbio. The incident had made no great
impression on him at the time, but how prominently it stood out in his
thoughts to-day!
He reached the house after lunch. The men were at the other side of the
park practicing firing with Count de Gorbio. From the sounds of the
shots and the exclamations which followed he gathered that he was quite
close to the butts. He heard the voice of Françoise:
"Well done, Count. That was a wonderful shot. What a pity the Boches are
not up against your pistol!"
Françoise was moving away from the group where the Count was "showing
off" his prowess when her eyes fell upon Didier. She gave a start and
grew pale. Nevertheless she continued her way towards the house as
though she had not seen him.
M. de la Boulays was not less astonished than his daughter at the sudden
and entirely unexpected apparition of the Captain, and though the latter
did not express any desire to see him alone, he realized that he must
have some urgent communication to make to him connected with the
important mission with which the Captain had been entrusted the night
before. In the meantime he took his cue from the Captain's attitude and
was content to wait.
Count de Gorbio treated the new-comer with icy politeness, for he was by
no means pleased to see him again.
Several more shots were fired which served to display the Count's
wonderful skill. He was congratulated by all and they returned to the
house. Didier had declined to take part in the contest when the pistols
were offered to him, under the pretence of a weakness in his right arm.
He had no wish to run the risk of being humiliated before de Gorbio, and
when he looked at him it was certainly not at a cardboard target that he
longed to fire!
As soon as they were in the house M. de la Boulays went up to Didier and
said quietly:
"I presume you have something to tell me. Captain."
"Yes; something serious."
"Would you care to go upstairs to my study?"
"No; don't let any one think we're having a serious talk. We're being
spied upon."
They went on the terrace while one party was arranging a game of poker
with the Count, and another party was making up a game of bridge in
which M. de la Boulays was to join.
"Let me know when you want me," he said. And, turning to Didier, asked
in a somewhat nonplussed tone: "Well, what's it all about?"
"Monsieur de la Boulays, there's a spy in this house."
As he heard those words M. de la Boulays could not restrain himself.
"De Gorbio was right!" he exclaimed.
The result was that before Captain d'Haumont could say another word de
Gorbio, who had caught M. de la Boulays' cry, came up and asked for an
explanation. But d'Haumont became frigidly silent, and M. de la Boulays
appeared to be extremely perplexed by the Captain's attitude. The Count
at once apologized for interposing so clumsily in a private
conversation.
"I thought I heard you say 'de Gorbio was right.' I see that I made a
mistake," and he walked away in spite of M. de la Boulays'
protestations.
"I think you might have explained matters before the Count," said M. de
la Boulays. "This morning he persuaded me to dismiss the man-servant
whom you never liked and whom he caught he tells me, eavesdropping."
"Isn't Schwab here now?" cried d'Haumont. "Well, I'm very sorry to hear
it. We might have brought him to book or caught him in the act. . . .
Now it's too late."
"In any case we can't blame Count de Gorbio."
"I'm not blaming him. I'm only sorry that, owing to the haste with which
he has had him turned out, Schwab can continue his treachery elsewhere."
"I think you are a little unfair to Count de Gorbio," said M. de la
Boulays. "But never mind that, tell me what happened to you to put you
in such a state."
Didier told his story in a few words without entering into particulars
of the attack on him, and passing over in silence, of course, the
incident at Hilaire's grocery stores, the escape by the roofs, and the
descent into a timber merchant's yard, while his adversaries were
waiting for him in the Rue Saint Roch. After all, was not the fact that
he had brought his errand to a successful issue the main thing? Finally,
he told M. de la Bourlays how he had found himself face to face with
Schwab the night before, when he left the study, but he did not feel
called upon to mention that afterwards he caught a glimpse of the Count,
in the park, in conversation with the man.
After M. de la Boulays had heard Didier's story he regretted less than
ever having got rid of Schwab--a point of view which was not shared by
d'Haumont.
Just then some one came up to fetch M. de la Boulays for his bridge
party. He left the Captain after making him promise that he would stay
to dinner. The latter could not well refuse the invitation, for he had
no conceivable pretext for leaving the house before the hour at which
the train departed by which he would return to Paris.
He did not see Mademoiselle de la Boulays again during the whole of the
afternoon, but half an hour before dinner, while he was on the terrace
lost in sorrowful musings, swinging on a rocking-chair and smoking a
cigar, he saw her coming towards him. He threw away his cigar and
stopped the movement of his chair.
He saw from the wistful and lovelorn look in her eyes that she was
suffering no less than he, and he hated himself for his powerlessness to
combat their twofold misery save to disappear from sight.
She came to him in all the simplicity of her soul, such as he had known
her when he recovered consciousness after his sufferings in hospital,
when she supported his first steps on his return to health and strength,
and when she turned her beloved face to him in full confidence.
They made their way down into the park.
"My father tells me that last night again your life was in great
danger," she said.
Her voice was shaken by intense emotion, and he saw a tear spring from
her beautiful eyes. He forgot the infamous past and the impossible
future. He lived through an exquisite moment. He was loved at that hour
and in that place, and straightway he separated that hour and place from
every other hour and place. The arm of his beloved trembled against his.
He forgot everything. He was a happy man for a space, and he lifted his
eyes to heaven in a frenzy of gratitude.
What did he say next? What words had he uttered? They could only have
been trivial, since they had no connection with what was passing in his
heart. He told the story, perhaps, of the night before; he spoke,
perhaps, of other things. What he said was of no consequence. His words
fell in silence, and they could not come between their twin souls,
responsive only to the mute rhythm of their love.
How, in that moment of exaltation, could he see behind him a rival whose
eyes were gleaming with hatred? Count de Gorbio stood beside M. de la
Boulays on the terrace, and what he saw and heard made him swell with
suppressed anger.
He saw Françoise walking arm in arm with Didier and heard M. de la
Boulays telling him that it was in vain that he had endeavored to induce
his daughter to fix a date for the marriage.
"But I say, what did she reply?"
"She made no reply at all. She left me to meet Captain d'Haumont."
The Count could not repress a gesture of fury. Nevertheless the two men
ceased talking, for the Captain and Françoise, summoned by the dinner
bell, were coming up the steps to the terrace.
D'Haumont was placed next to Françoise at dinner, and the Count was
seated opposite them. He at once turned the conversation to the subject
of gold-diggers, and the hazards which attended their enterprises, and,
in particular, the unfortunate necessity which forced persons who were
out there to mix with the lowest type of adventurers.
"That's true," agreed d'Haumont, without betraying the least agitation.
"Count de Gorbio knows the manners and customs of the country as if he
had lived there."
The conversation could not continue for long in such a strain without
the fear of some altercation arising during the dinner. The enmity of
the two men was so obvious that the guests exchanged astonished glances.
What were they about to witness?
M. de la Boulays was conscious of the danger and did not conceal his
anxiety. Françoise, on the other hand, maintained her composure. She
asked Count de Gorbio to tell them in his usual charming manner some of
his theatrical anecdotes, which would change the subject from that of
spies and savages.
"For my part, I wish to be enlightened," protested the Count. "One never
knows what may happen in life. Is it true that you went out there
without a sou and came back as rich as a nabob?"
Before Didier had time to reply Françoise took it upon herself to
interpose.
"Captain d'Haumont is a poorer man now than he was before he went out.
He gave all his fortune in addition to shedding some of his blood for
France."
A murmur of approval passed through the room. It was as much as the
guests could do not to break forth into applause.
"Captain d'Haumont is a hero and the most disinterested man of my
acquaintance," rejoined the Count. "I am very pleased to number myself
among his friends."
This sudden and unexpected change of front did not deceive any one.
Nevertheless it put an end, for the time being, to a situation which was
one of great delicacy for M. and Mlle. de la Boulays, whom every one was
watching. It was easy to understand the cause of the quarrel, and the
reason of the animosity which had brought about a contest between the
two men.
M. de la Boulays himself grew increasingly uncomfortable. He could not
make out his daughter's attitude. She had suddenly shown a violent
hostility to the Count, and the problem for him was why, if she were
animated by such feelings, she had bestowed her hand upon him.
He determined to get her to unburden herself to him, for he was an
extremely worthy man, and though his interests were bound up in certain
business matters with those of de Gorbio, he would not have seen his
daughter unhappy on any account. And, moreover, if she were in love with
d'Haumont she had but to confess it.
When they rose from the table to retire to the drawing-room, Mlle. de la
Boulays took d'Haumont's arm and asked him to go with her into the park
for a breath of fresh air of which she stood in need. She did not omit,
as she left the room, to apologize gracefully to the Count for
monopolizing the attention of "his friend."
"He is my patient," she said, "and I want to give him my last
injunctions."
"Do you know that you were very disagreeable to my future husband?" she
said when they were alone. "If you don't like him, it would be a mistake
not to tell me so seeing that I accepted him on your advice! But nothing
is lost yet. There is still time to choose a different one if this one
does not please you!" She did not give him time to reply. "And now," she
added quickly, "you must go and say good-by to my father and start off
if you want to catch your train. The small racing-car will take you to
the station."
It was she now who was urging him to depart, eager to see him leave the
Château. Obviously she dreaded any sort of encounter between the two
men. But at that moment Count de Gorbio appeared before them.
"M. de la Boulays wishes to speak to you, Mademoiselle. He asked me to
come and tell you so." And he added in a somewhat sharper tone, "You
must forgive me for disturbing, in this way, your last conversation."
"But you are not disturbing it, I assure you, my dear Count. Be kind
enough, Captain d'Haumont, to take me to my father."
The Count let them pass out of sight. He was seeing red.
A quarter of an hour later d'Haumont left the house in the racing car. A
break-down occurred on the way, and he reached the station only to see
the express "on the move." The next train did not leave until the
following morning, and he put up at an hotel in the town. He had not
been in his room for more than five minutes when a knock came at the
door. He opened it.
It proved to be Count de Gorbio, who bowed politely and apologized for
disturbing him at such an hour, but he was convinced that when the
Captain knew the reason of his haste, he would not bear him any
ill-will. The matter in question was this: Count de Gorbio had always
held that a man's honor was the most valuable thing in the world, and as
his honor had been affronted by Captain d'Haumont's remarks, he had come
without delay to demand satisfaction.
Captain d'Haumont listened to him with absolute composure. He answered
that the Count's errand greatly astonished him, for he was not aware in
what way he could have caused him any personal annoyance.
"There have been many things, Monsieur, which I do not feel called upon
to explain, but among others you used a certain phrase about adventurers
which you would not have finished if I had not been held back by respect
for my host."
"Monsieur," broke in d'Haumont, in a frigid tone, "the remark was made
by you and I merely replied to it. But it will serve. You want a duel.
Very well, you shall have one when peace is signed. Until then my life
belongs to my country."
"I quite expected that excuse. It's easy to say that. We don't know when
peace will be signed. We may both of us be old men by then. Hang it all,
the armistice is good enough for me, and I am so constituted that the
thought of holding over indefinitely the remembrance of so unpardonable
an affront, makes me furious. I want to kill you at once, Captain
d'Haumont."
"I say again that for the time being my life belongs to my country."
"Mlle. de la Boulays told us that you had shed half your blood for your
country. I claim the other half. When a man knows that he cannot fight,
or chooses not to fight, he behaves himself accordingly, and keeps to
himself the ill opinion that he may have formed of his neighbor."
Captain d'Haumont did not answer the Count. He pointed to the door.
Then Count de Gorbio, with a slow movement, drew off a heavy motor-glove
and struck him with it across the face.
The scene changed in a flash. Didier took the Count in his formidable
hands, lifted him, swung him, and was about to break his head against
the wall when the Count, in his terror, bellowed the one thing that
could save him.
"Coward, afraid of my pistol."
Didier let him drop.
"Very well," he said, "I'll fight you."
During this time Mlle. de la Boulays was searching the Château for de
Gorbio, and was in a fever of anxiety as to what had become of him.
She learned that he had set out in one of the motor-cars with the hood
up. M. de la Boulays was in his study, unconscious of what was
happening. At that juncture the small racing car returned, and the
chauffeur told Françoise that Captain d'Haumont had missed the train
and had ordered him to drive to an hotel.
She sprang into the car, a prey to the gloomiest forebodings. It seemed
a forgone conclusion to her that de Gorbio, furious at the manner in
which she had openly slighted him and with Didier for his attitude
towards him, was in pursuit with a view of challenging him. The deed,
perhaps, was already done. Her memory harked back to the Count's
wonderful prowess with the pistol, and she shuddered. Besides, she had
learned with certainty that his car had preceded her by an hour. . . .
Her feeling of anguish increased every moment almost to the point of
suffocation. She was convinced that the two men were in the very act of
fighting. They could not even wait until the next morning!
When she reached the hotel and discovered that Didier was in his room
safe and sound, she wept tears of joy. She ran up to his room and
knocked wildly at the door. The Captain himself opened it.
"You're going to fight a duel," she burst out, addressing him in the
familiar second person which spoke volumes for their love which, when
they were alone, had never been in question. They both remained as
motionless as statues. "Forgive me," she went on, while a deep blush
mantled her cheeks. "Oh, forgive me." And she sank into a chair, sobbing
aloud.
"Yes, Françoise, it's true. I'm fighting a duel to-morrow morning."
"Oh, good heavens!" she cried. And then, with a look of dismay: "What
are you fighting with? Pistols? You saw what that wretched man can do
with a pistol. He will kill you."
"Yes," answered Didier simply, transfigured by an immense joy. "Yes, he
will kill me. . . . There's no way out of it. But I shall die the
happiest of men because you came to me."
She rose from her chair and took his hands in hers.
"You will not fight. I don't want it and you don't want it. You must not
fight. You are a soldier. In war time a soldier fights only against the
enemy. You would be guilty of an act of treason if you were to fight.
No, no; you will not fight."
"But, my dear girl, I said all that to him and he struck me in the
face."
"He laid hands on you! He dared to strike you, and is still alive!"
"Why, you see, Françoise, you, no more than I, would consent to live
after that. No, my love, he is still alive because, when I was about to
smash his head against the wall, he taunted me with being afraid of his
pistol. You see, yourself, that I must fight him."
"No, no; never. . . . The man is a murderer."
"We should have fought before now if we could have found any seconds. We
had to postpone the meeting. He is taking everything on himself. Both of
us will have the necessary seconds. And now go back to your father, and
keep silent about the whole matter. I have an hour left in which to
write to you--to write to you at great length."
"Why write to me? Why do you suddenly change your tone? Why do you again
assume the coldness which has already caused me so much pain? You have
but to say one word to me--the word which you have never yet said."
"It is to tell you why I have never said that word that I want to write
to you."
"And afterwards you'll fight?"
"I shall fight."
"That means you don't love me, Didier. Alas, my love, you have never
loved me. And yet you know that I have loved you from the first day
that I saw you . . . and you have done nothing but make me weep."
"That's true," returned Didier. "But you are so good that I am certain
you will forgive me."
He sat down and, leaning with his elbows on the table, placed his hands
before his face as if to shut out the vision of her for the last time.
When he looked up again she was gone.
Then he began to write. His letter was a confession and a testament; one
long wail of sorrow and love.
At daybreak, when d'Haumont entered the forest, Count de Gorbio and the
four seconds whom he had undertaken to obtain were already waiting for
him and he had the sensation of being face to face with a firing-party.
Those four men--the seconds--wore an ominous look, as if they knew that
they were about to engage in an ugly business. The duel was occurring in
such peculiar circumstances that de Gorbio must have had some difficulty
in finding accomplices. It was not a pleasant sight for any one, except
a German, to see a man shoot down a Captain in the French army, wounded
in the war and not a little famous on account of his deeds. Count de
Gorbio must have had to pay them a good price to induce them to act as
seconds.
Nevertheless, the seconds, anticipating some future unpleasantness, were
anxious that the duel should be fought strictly in accordance with the
rules. They expressed regret that d'Haumont had not brought a case of
pistols with him, but as he accepted, without demur, the pistols
belonging to his opponent, they decided to go on. Captain d'Haumont's
seconds took the greatest care to see that the weapons were properly
loaded. They drew lots and fate decreed that one of his seconds should
take charge of the combat, and he offered the Captain a few words of
advice.
It was obvious that he was quite in his element. He turned down the thin
line of white collar which could be seen above the blue of d'Haumont's
jacket. He counselled him to stand sideways under cover of his right
arm, and to bend it over his chest so that it might serve as a shield;
and to fire standing in that position when the command was given, so
that Count de Gorbio would not have time to take aim between the words,
"One, two, three, and fire!" Of course, such precipitation would mean
that he would be firing a little at random, but it was his only chance
of saving his life, for there was no use hiding the fact that if Count
de Gorbio were given time to take aim d'Haumont would be a dead man.
The second did not express in so many words an opinion which was shared
by every one else, but he clearly hinted as much.
The seconds counted the paces. The adversaries were placed face to face.
After the usual preliminaries, the word of command, "Fire!" rang out.
Captain d'Haumont did not display any undue haste, but gave Count de
Gorbio his full time and fired abstractedly, almost simultaneously with
him.
He had recommended his soul to God and thought of Françoise for the
last time. He expected to be struck to the ground. What was his
stupefaction to see Count de Gorbio turn right round. The Count swayed
for a second and then fell his length with his face on the sward. The
seconds rushed up, followed by a gentleman whom the Captain had not
previously observed, and who, it seemed, was the doctor.
At that moment a woman's cry was heard, and Françoise appeared on the
scene. She came hurrying up apparently to prevent the duel, and hearing
the shots, she was shrieking all the more despairingly, feeling certain
that she had arrived too late. It is only in fiction and plays that the
heroine can calculate her time with such nicety that she appears on the
ground at the psychological moment and glides in front of a pistol to
receive the shot which was intended for the man she loves.
Nevertheless, when Mlle. de la Boulays had made sure that the body which
lay on the grass was the Count's, and that d'Haumont was uninjured, she
in no way regretted her late arrival. She flung herself into Didier's
arms.
"It is the judgment of God!"
These words coming from the beloved lips made an immense impression on
d'Haumont, and affected him to a greater degree than the duel itself.
"The judgment of God!" It was true that God had been on his side in the
battle, so that he had miraculously escaped the Count's unerring pistol,
while the Count was struck down by a bullet which had no chance of
hitting him!
It was fated, therefore, that he should live. It was fated that he
should love. It was shown that he had sufficiently suffered; made
sufficient atonement. God, by removing that man from his path, had
thrown that splendid girl into his arms, and she alone uttered the only
words that were able to decide his destiny.
The judgment of God!
It was an inspiring thought and overwhelmed him with an exultation which
may easily be imagined; while Françoise's tears of joy, the clasp of
her arms, the wonderful elation which seized him as he felt that he was
on the threshold of a new life, illumined by love, took him out of
himself--and he listened but absent-mindedly to the remarks of the
seconds who were telling him that Count de Gorbio was not dead, but that
he was not very far from it.
They raised their hats, and he returned the salute without quite knowing
what he was about. And he allowed himself to be dragged away by
Françoise.
Some weeks later she led him to the altar. The marriage made a great
stir. It was one of the smartest among the war-weddings. As the wedding
party emerged into the church square, bathed in the warm light, it was
as though the sun of victory had risen that morning expressly to shine
on Captain d'Haumont and his radiant bride.
They descended the main staircase amidst a murmur of admiration from a
fashionably dressed crowd. As in the case of all marriages of wealthy
people, a few eager beggars and down-at-heel loafers congregated here
and there on the pavement. One of them climbed the gilded gate in order
to see better, and his movements were like the contortions of a crab.
Standing near him a squalid-looking peddler of rugs, carrying his bundle
of trash on his shoulders, stared at the procession with not less
interest. Captain d'Haumont was in the seventh heaven and had no eyes
for earthly sights, nor did he hear the words that were spoken in an
undertone by an over-dressed man to his companion, who might have been a
sheriff's clerk and looked rather shabby:
"Well, what do you think about it, Joker?"
"I think he is now ripe, Parisian."