BLADE TO BLADE.
Several times in the course of this interview Norbert de Champdoce had
been on the point of bursting into a furious passion, but he restrained
himself from a motive of self-pride; but now that his wife was no
longer present, he showed a savage intensity of purpose and a deadly
earnestness that was absolutely appalling. As he followed Croisenois
down the great staircase, he kept repeating the words, “Quick! quick!
we have lost too much time already;” for he saw that a mere trifle might
upset all his plans--such as a servant returning home before the others.
When they reached the ground-floor, he led George into a by-room which
looked like an armory, so filled was it with arms of all kinds and
nations.
“Here,” said he, with a bitter sneer, “we can find, I think, what we
want;” and placing the candle he carried on the mantelpiece, he leaped
upon the cushioned seat that ran round the room, and took down from
the wall several pairs of duelling swords, and, throwing them upon the
floor, exclaimed, “Choose your own weapon.”
George was an anxious as Norbert to bring this painful scene to a close,
for anything was preferable to this hideous state of suspense. The last
despairing glance of the Duchess had pierced his heart like a dagger
thrust, and when he saw Norbert thrust aside his trembling wife with
such brutality, it was all he could do to refrain from striking him
down. He made no choice of weapons, but grasped the nearest, saying,--
“One will do as well as another.”
“We cannot fight in this darkness,” said Norbert, “but I have a means to
remedy that. Come with me this way, so that we may avoid the observation
of the porter.”
They went into the stables, where he took up a large lantern, which he
lighted.
“This,” said he, “will afford ample light for our work.”
“Ah, but the neighbors will see it, too; and at this hour a light in the
garden is sure to attract attention,” observed George.
“Don’t be afraid; my grounds are not overlooked.”
They entered the garden, and soon reached the spot to which the Duke had
alluded. Norbert hung the lantern on the bough of a tree, and it gave
the same amount of light as an ordinary street lamp.
“We will dig the grave in that corner,” observed he; “and when it is
filled in, we can cover it with that heap of stones over there.”
He threw off his great coat, and, handing a spade to Croisenois, took
another himself, repeating firmly the words,--
“To work! To work!”
Croisenois would have toiled all night before he could have completed
the task, but the muscles of the Duke were hardened by his former
laborious life, and in forty minutes all was ready.
“That will do,” said Norbert, exchanging his spade for a sword. “Take
your guard.”
Croisenois, however, did not immediately obey. Impressible by nature, he
felt a cold shiver run through his frame; the dark night, the flickering
lantern, and all these preparations, made in so cold-blooded a manner,
affected his nerves. The grave, with its yawning mouth, fascinated him.
“Well,” said Norbert impatiently, “are you not ready?”
“I will speak,” exclaimed De Croisenois, driven to desperation. “In a
few minutes one of us will be lying dead on this spot. In the presence
of death a man’s words are to be relied on. Listen to me. I swear to
you, on my honor and by all my hopes of future salvation, that the
Duchess de Champdoce is entirely free from guilt.”
“You have said that before; why repeat it again?”
“Because it is my duty; because I am thinking that, if I die, it will
be my insane passions that have caused the ruin of one of the best and
purest women in the world. I entreat you to believe that she has nothing
to repent of. See, I am not ashamed to descend to entreaty. Let my
death, if you kill me, be an expiation for everything. Be gentle with
your wife; and if you survive me, do not make her life one prolonged
existence of agony.”
“Silence, or I shall look upon you as a dastard,” returned Norbert
fiercely.
“Miserable fool!” said De Croisenois. “On guard, then, and may heaven
decide the issue!”
There was a sharp clash as their swords crossed, and the combat began
with intense vigor.
The space upon which the rays of the lantern cast a glimmering and
uncertain light was but a small one; and while one of the combatants
was in complete shade the other was in the light, and exposed to thrusts
which he could not see. This was fatal to Croisenois, and, as he took
a step forward, Norbert made a fierce lunge which pierced him to the
heart.
The unfortunate man threw up his arms above his head; his sword escaping
from his nerveless fingers and his knees bending under him, he fell
heavily backwards without a word escaping from his lips. Thrice he
endeavored to regain his feet, and thrice he failed in his attempts. He
strove to speak, but he could only utter a few unintelligible words,
for his life blood was suffocating him. A violent convulsion shook every
limb, then arose a long, deep-drawn sigh, and then silence--George de
Croisenois was dead.
Yes, he was dead, and Norbert de Champdoce stood over him with a wild
look of terror in his eyes, and his hair bristling upon his head, as
a shudder of horror convulsed his body. Then, for the first time, he
realized the horror of seeing a man slain by his own hand; and yet
what affected Norbert most was not that he had killed George de
Croisenois--for he believed that justice was on his side and that he
could not have acted otherwise--but the perspiration stood in thick
beads upon his forehead, as he thought that he must raise up that still
warm and quivering body, and place it in its unhallowed grave.
He hesitated and reasoned with himself for some time, going over all
the reasons that made dispatch so absolutely necessary--the risk of
detection, and the honor of his name.
He stooped and prepared to raise it, but recoiled again before his hands
had touched the body. His heart failed him, and once more he assumed an
erect position. At last he nerved himself, grasped the body, and, with
an immense exertion of strength, hurled it into the gaping grave. It
fell with a dull, heavy sound which seemed to Norbert like the roar of
an earthquake. The violent emotions which he had endured had ended
by acting on his brain, and, snatching up the spade which his late
antagonist had used with so unpracticed a hand, shovelled the earth upon
the body, flattened down the ground, and finally covered it with straw
and dead leaves.
“And this is the end of a man who wronged a Champdoce; yes, his life has
paid the penalty of his deed.”
All at once, a few paces off, in the deep shadow of the trees, he
thought that he detected the outline of a human head with a pair of
glittering eyes fixed upon him. The shock was so terrible that for an
instant he stopped and nearly fell, but he quickly recovered himself,
and, snatching up his blood-stained sword, he dashed to the spot where
he fancied he had seen this terrible witness of his deed.
At this rapid movement on the part of the Duke, a figure started up with
a faint cry for mercy. It was a woman.
She fled with inconceivable swiftness towards the house, but he caught
her just as she had gained the steps.
“Have mercy on me!” cried she. “Do not murder me!”
He dragged her back to where the lantern was hanging. She was a girl
of about eighteen years of age, ugly, badly clothed, and dirty looking.
Norbert looked earnestly at her, but could not say who she was, though
he was certain that he had seen her face somewhere.
“Who are you?” asked he.
She burst into a flood of tears, but made no other reply.
“Come,” resumed he, in more soothing accents; “you shall not be hurt.
Tell me who you are.”
“Caroline Schimmel.”
“Caroline?” repeated he.
“Yes. I have been in your service as scullery maid for the last three
months.”
“How is it that you did not go to the wedding with the rest of them?”
“It was not my fault. I was asked, and I did so long to go, but I was
too shabby; I had no finery to put on. I am very poor now, for I have
only fifteen francs a month, and none of the other maids would lend me
anything to wear.”
“How did you come into the garden?” asked Norbert.
“I was very miserable, and was sitting in the garden crying, when I
suddenly saw a light down there. I thought it was theirs, and crept down
the back stairs.”
“And what did you see?”
“I saw it all.”
“All what?”
“When I got down here, you and the other were digging. I thought you
were looking for money! but ah, dear me! I was wrong. Then the other
began to say something, but I couldn’t catch a word; then you fought.
Oh, it was awful! I was so frightened, I could not take my eyes off you.
Then the other fell down on his back.”
“And then?”
“Then,” she faltered, “you buried him, and then----”
“Could you recognize this--this other?”
“Yes, my lord duke, I did.”
“Had you ever seen him before? Do you know who he was?”
“No.”
“Listen to me, my girl. If you know how to hold your tongue, if you can
forget all you have seen to-night, it will be the greatest piece of luck
for you in the world that you did not go to this wedding.”
“I won’t open my lips to a soul, my lord duke. Hear me swear, I won’t.
Oh, do believe me!”
“Very well; keep your oath, and your fortune is made. To-morrow I will
give you a fine, large sum of money, and you can go back to your village
and marry some honest fellow to whom you have taken a fancy.”
“Are you not making game of me?”
“No; go to your room and go to bed, as if nothing had happened. Jean
will tell you what to do to-morrow, and you must obey him as you would
me.”
“Oh, my lord! Oh, my lord duke!”
Unable to contain her delight, she mingled her laughter and her tears.
And Norbert knew that his name, his honor, and perhaps his life were in
the hands of a wretched girl like this. All the peace and happiness of
his life were gone, and he felt like some unhappy prisoner who through
the bars of his dungeon sees his jailer’s children sporting with lighted
matches and a barrel of gunpowder. He was at her mercy, for well he knew
that it would resolve into this--that the smallest wish of this girl
would become an imperative command that he dared not disobey. However
absurd might be her whims and caprices, she had but to express them, and
he dared not resist. What means could he adopt to free himself from this
odious state of servitude? He knew but of one--the dead tell no tales.
There were four persons who were the sharer of Norbert’s secret. First,
the writer of the anonymous letter; then the Duchess; then Caroline
Schimmel; and, finally, Jean, to whom he must confide all. With these
thoughts ringing through his brain, Norbert carefully effaced the last
traces of the duel, and then bent his steps towards his wife’s chamber.
He had expected to find her still unconscious on the spot where he had
left her lying. Marie was seated in an armchair by the side of the fire;
her face was terribly pale, and her eyes sparkling with the inward flame
that consumed her.
“My honor has been vindicated; the Marquis de Croisenois is no more; I
have slain your lover, madame.”
Marie did not start; she had evidently prepared herself for this blow.
Her face assumed a more proud and disdainful expression, and the light
in her dark eyes grew brighter and brighter.
“You are wrong,” said she, “M. de Croisenois was not my lover.”
“You need no longer take the pains to lie; I ask nothing now.”
Marie’s utter calmness jarred inexpressibly upon Norbert’s exasperated
frame of mind. He would have given much to change this mood of hers,
which he could not at all understand. But in vain did he say the most
cutting things, and coupled them with bitter taunts, for she had reached
a pitch of exaltation far above his sarcasms and abuse.
“I am not lying,” answered she frigidly. “What should I gain by it? What
more have I to gain in this world? You desire to learn the truth; here
it is then: It was with my knowledge and permission that George was here
to-night. He came because I had asked him to do so, and I left the gate
in the garden wall open, so as to facilitate his entrance. He had not
been more than five minutes in the room, when you arrived, and he had
never been there before. It would have been easy for me to have left
you; but as I bear your name, I could not dishonor it. As you entered,
he was entreating me to fly with him; both his life and his honor were
in my hands. Ah, why did I pause for an instant? Had I consented, he
would still have been alive, and in some far distant country he and
I might have learned that this world has something more to offer than
unhappiness and misery. Yes, as you will have it, you shall have all. I
loved him ere I knew that you even existed. I have only my own folly to
blame, only my own unhappy weakness to deplore. Why did I not steadily
refuse to become your wife? You say that you have slain George. Not so,
for in my heart his memory will ever remain bright and ineffaceable.”
“Beware!” said Norbert furiously, “beware if----”
“Ah, would you kill me too? Do not fear resistance; my life is a blank
without him. He is dead; let death come to me; it would be a welcome
visitant. The only kindness that you could now bestow upon me would
be my death-blow. Strike then, and end it all! In death we should be
united, George and I; and as my limbs grew stiff and my breath passed
away, my whitening lips would murmur words of thanks.”
Norbert listened to her, overwhelmed by the intensity of her passion,
and marvelling that he had any power to feel after the terrible event
which had fallen upon his devoted head.
Could this be Marie, the soft and gentle woman, who spoke with such
passionate vehemence and boldly braved his anger? How could he have so
misunderstood her? He forgot all his anger in his admiration. She seemed
to him to have undergone a complete change. There was an unearthly style
of beauty around her--her eyes blazed and shone with the lurid light of
a far-distant planet, while her wealth of raven hair fell in disordered
masses on her shoulders. It was passion, real passion, that he beheld
to-night, not that mere empty delusion which he had so long followed
blindly. Marie was really capable of a deep-rooted feeling of adoration
for the man she loved, while with Diana de Mussidan, the woman with her
fair hair and the steel-blue eyes, love was but the lust of conquest, or
the desire to jeer at a suitor’s earnestness. Ah, what a revelation had
been made to him now! And what would he not have given to have wiped out
the past! He advanced towards her with outstretched arms.
“Marie!” said he, “Marie!”
“I forbid you to call me Marie!” shrieked she wildly.
He made no reply, but still advanced towards her, when, with a terrible
cry, she recoiled from him.
“Blood!” she screamed, “ah, heavens! he has blood upon his hands!”
Norbert glanced downwards; upon the wristband of his shirt there was a
tell-tale crimson stain.
The Duchess raised her hand, and pointed towards the door.
“Leave me,” said she, with an extraordinary assumption of energy, “leave
me; the secret of your crime is safe; I will not betray you or hand you
over to justice. But remember that a murdered man stands between us, and
that I loathe and execrate you.”
Rage and jealousy tortured Norbert’s soul. Though George de Croisenois
was no more, he was still his successful rival in Marie’s love.
“You forget,” said he in a voice hoarse with passion, “that you are
mine, and that, as your husband, I can make your existence one long
scene of agony and misery. Keep this fact in your memory. To-morrow, at
six o’clock, I shall be here.”
The clock was striking two as he left the house and hastened to the spot
where he had left his horse.
The soldier was still pacing backwards and forwards, leading the Duke’s
horse.
“My faith!” said the man, as soon as he perceived Norbert, “you pay
precious long visits. I had only leave to go to the theatre, and I shall
get into trouble over this.”
“Pshaw! I promised you twenty francs. Here are two louis.”
The soldier pocketed the money with an air of delighted surprise, and
Norbert sprang into the saddle.
An hour later he gave the appointed signal upon the window pane, behind
which the trusty Jean was waiting.
“Take care that no one sees you as you take the horse to the stable,”
said the Duke hastily, “and then come to me, for I want your assistance
and advice.”