THE DUEL.
The more time and attention we bestowed upon this unhappy suit, the more
fully convinced were my father and myself that it was impossible to lose
it. Two wills were brought forward in evidence; one of which five years
previous had been duly attested, signed and sealed, was in favor of M.
d’Aillane. Being in straitened circumstanced at this period, he had
escaped from his difficulties by a sale of the real estate which he
regarded as his own. The other will, discovered three years afterwards,
by one of those strange chances which causes it to be said that life
resembles a romance, suddenly impoverished the d’Aillanes to enrich
Madame d’Ionis. The validity of this last deed was incontestable; the
date, later than that of the first one was clear and precise. M.
d’Aillane pleaded the childish condition of the testator and the nature
of the pressure M. d’Ionis had brought to bear upon him in his last
hours. This latter argument was sufficiently apparent; but the condition
of dotage could not be proved in any manner whatever.
Besides, M. d’Ionis assumed, rightly, that d’Aillane, pressed by his
creditors, had ceded the property to them for less than its real value,
and he demanded what was for them a very considerable sum, since it
represented the last wreck of his adversaries’ fortune.
M. d’Aillane did not expect to succeed. He was conscious that his case
was a weak one; but he was bent upon clearing himself from the
accusation brought against him, of having known or even suspected the
existence of a second will, of having engaged the person with whom it
was deposited to keep it concealed for three years, and of having
hastened to utilize the inheritance so as to practically escape from the
consequences of the future. There had been besides a discussion upon the
real value of the property, exaggerated more or less by the two parties
in the debates, previous to my father’s intervention in the suit.
My father and I were discussing this last point and were not quite of
the same opinion, when Baptiste announced M. d’Aillane, the son, captain
of the —— regiment.
Bernard d’Aillane was a handsome young man of about my age, proud,
sensitive, and very outspoken. He expressed himself very politely,
appealing to our honor, as one who recognized our strict observance
thereof, but towards the close of his exordium, carried away by his
natural vivacity, he distinctly threatened me, in case I should, in the
course of my speech, chance to express any doubt of his father’s perfect
loyalty.
My father was more disturbed by this challenge than I, and a lawyer at
heart, he expressed his indignation in words. I saw that a quarrel was
likely to result from a project of reconciliation, and I begged the two
speakers to listen to me.
“Permit me, father,” said I, “to call M. d’Aillane’s attention to the
fact that he has just committed a serious imprudence, and that, if I
were not, thanks to my profession, of a cooler temperament than himself,
I would take pleasure in provoking his anger, and in making use of every
argument that my case might require.”
“What do you say,” cried my father, who in his heart was the most
amiable of men, but easily carried away in the exercise of his duties,
“I sincerely trust, my son, that you will use every argument, and if
there is the least occasion in the world to suspect the good faith of
our adversaries, it is neither M. le Capitaine d’Aillane’s little
moustache and little sword, or his father’s great moustache and large
sword that will prevent you from proclaiming it.”
Young d’Aillane was perfectly infuriated, and being unable to vent his
rage upon a man of my father’s age, he was strongly tempted to vent it
upon me. He made some very bitter remarks to me, of which I took no
notice, and, continuing to address my father, I answered:
“You are perfectly right in believing that I will not allow myself to be
intimidated; but we must pardon M. d’Aillane for having entertained such
an idea. Were I to find myself in a similar situation, and your honor in
question, reflect, my dear father, that I would not be any more polite
or reasonable than necessity required. Have some consideration then for
his anxiety, and since we cannot relieve it, do not let us be so harsh
as to add to it unnecessarily. I have examined the affair sufficiently
to be convinced myself of the extreme delicacy of the entire d’Aillane
family, and I shall consider it as much of a pleasure as of a duty to
acknowledge this on all occasions.”
“That is all I wanted, monsieur,” cried the young man, grasping my
hands, “and now go on and gain your suit, we ask nothing better.”
“One moment, one moment,” replied my father, with the same spirit he
showed in his discussions in court. “I do not know exactly, my son, what
your ideas about this perfect loyalty may be, but as for myself, if I
find circumstances in the history of this affair where it is manifest,
there are others that seem suspicious to me, and I beg of you to promise
nothing, before weighing the objections that I was engaged in submitting
to you when monsieur honored us with his visit.”
“Allow me, my dear father,” I replied with firmness, “to inform you that
slight appearances will not be sufficient to make me share your doubts.
Without considering M. le comte d’Aillane’s well-established reputation,
I have the evidence of certain testimony in his favor.”
I paused, while reflecting that this testimony of my sublime and
mysterious friend, was something I would be unable to bring forward
without being laughed at. It was nevertheless so serious a consideration
with me, that nothing in the world, not even apparent facts, could make
me doubt it.
“I know of what testimony you speak,” said my father, “Madame d’Ionis
has a great affection——.”
“I hardly know Madame d’Ionis!” interrupted young d’Aillane quickly.
“And I am not speaking of you, monsieur,” my father smilingly replied.
“I am speaking of Count d’Aillane and of mademoiselle his daughter.”
“And I, father,” said I, in my turn, “I was not speaking of Madame
d’Ionis.”
“May one ask,” said young d’Aillane, “the name of the person who has had
this fortunate influence over you, so that I may know to whom I owe my
gratitude?”
“With your permission, monsieur, I would prefer not to tell you, this is
something that concerns myself alone.”
The young captain begged my pardon for being so indiscreet, took leave
of my father rather coldly, and retired, expressing his gratitude to me
for my good will.
I followed him to the street door, as if out of politeness. There he
again gave me his hand; this time I withdrew mine and begged him to come
for one moment into my room which opened on to the vestibule. I once
more declared that I was convinced of the nobility of his father’s
sentiments, and thoroughly determined not to cast the slightest
aspersion on the honor of his family. After which I said:
“As this matter is settled, monsieur, you will permit me to ask you why
you should have insulted me, by doubting my pride so far as to threaten
me with your resentment. If I have not done so before my father, who
seemed to urge me on, it was because I knew that when his feeling of
anger will have passed away, he would consider himself the most
unfortunate of men. I have also a very tender mother, and for this
reason I ask you to keep our explanation here a secret. Charged with the
interests of Madame d’Ionis, I plead her cause to-morrow; I beg of you
then, to grant on the following day, after leaving the palace, the
meeting that I now ask of you.”
“No, _parbleu_! I will do nothing of the kind,” cried the young man,
throwing his arms around my neck. “I haven’t the least desire to kill a
fellow who has shown so much feeling and justice towards me. I was
wrong, I acted without reason, and I am now quite ready to beg your
pardon.”
“That is altogether useless, monsieur, for you were forgiven before. In
my position, one is exposed to such offenses, and they do not affect an
honest man, but there is none the less necessity for me to fight you.”
“_Oui—da! Et pourquoi diable_, after having begged your pardon?”
“Because that has been done in private, and your visit has been public.
There is your horse pawing the ground at our door, and your soldier in
uniform, attracting the attention of everyone. You know very well what a
little provincial town is. In one hour from now, all the world will know
that a brilliant officer has been here to threaten a little lawyer, who
is conducting a suit against him, and you may be pretty sure that,
to-morrow, when I shall have observed for you and yours all the
consideration I look upon as your due, more than one malicious soul will
accuse me of being afraid of you, and will laugh at the contemptible
figure I will cut beside you. I resign myself to this humiliation, but
this duty accomplished, I will have another to fulfill which will be to
prove that I am no coward, unworthy of practicing an honorable
profession, and capable of betraying the confidence of my clients
through fear of a sword thrust. Consider that I am very young, monsieur,
that I have a character to establish, now or never.”
“You make me realize my mistake,” answered M. d’Aillane. “I did not
appreciate the importance of my behavior, and I owe you a formal avowal
in public.”
“It will be too late, after my speech, they will always believe that I
have yielded to fear; and it will be too soon before; they might think
that you feared my revelations.”
“Then I see there is no way out of this difficulty, and that all I can
do for you, is to give you the satisfaction that you require. Depend
upon my word and my silence. On leaving the palace to-morrow, you will
find me at whatever place you may appoint.”
We made our arrangements. After which the young officer observed with a
mournful and affectionate air:
“This is a bad piece of business for me, monsieur, for should I be so
unfortunate as to kill you, I believe I would then kill myself for
having placed a man of so much feeling as yourself in a position, where
he must of necessity stake his life against mine. God grant that the
result may not prove too serious. It will be a lesson for me. And
meanwhile, whatever happens, bear in mind my repentance, and do not have
too poor an opinion of me. It is too true that the world brings us up
badly, we young men of family. We forget that the _bourgeoisie_ is as
good as we are, and that the time has come to recognize this fact. Come,
give me your hand now, while we prepare to cut each other’s throats!”
Madame d’Ionis was to come to town the next day to be present at the
trial. I had received several very friendly letters from her in which
she no longer strove to influence my sense of duty as a lawyer, and in
which she contented herself with advising me to respect the honor of her
relatives, who could not, she said, be despised or offended without
reflecting disgrace upon herself. It was easy to see that she counted
upon her presence to restrain me, in case I should be carried away by
oratorical fervor.
She was mistaken in thinking that she exercised any power over me. I was
now governed by a higher influence, by a souvenir of an altogether
different nature than her own.
Again I conversed with my father in the evening and prevailed upon him
to leave me at liberty to take my own view of the moral side of the
affair. He bade me good-night, saying at the same time in rather a
reproving tone, which I understood no more than I did his words:
“My dear child, have a care. Madame d’Ionis is thine oracle I know, but
I greatly fear that she is only making use of thee to advance the
interests of another.” And as he observed my astonishment, he added:
“We will talk that over later on. Think only of acquitting thyself well
to-morrow, and of doing honor to thy father.”
Just as I was getting into bed, I was surprised to see a bow of green
ribbon pinned to my pillow. I took it up and felt that it contained a
ring; it was the emerald star which I remembered but as a feverish
dream. This mysterious ring really existed then; it had been given back
to me.
I put it on my finger and touched it a hundred times to assure myself
that I was not the victim of an illusion; then I took it off and
examined it with a care which I had not been equal to in the Castle of
Ionis, and there deciphered this device in very ancient characters:
“Thy life belongs to me alone.”
Was it a command for me not to fight? Was the immortal nymph still
unwilling for me to rejoin her? This was a great blow to me, for I was
consumed with a thirst for death, and I had hoped that circumstances
would authorize me to rid myself of life without being either rebellious
or cowardly.
I rang for Baptiste whom I could still hear walking around the house.
“Come,” said I, “thou must tell me the truth, _mon ami_, for thou art an
honest man, and my reason is in thy hands. Who has been here this
evening? Who has put this ring in my room, on my pillow?”
“What ring, monsieur? I have seen no ring.”
“But don’t you see it now? Isn’t it on my finger? Haven’t you already
seen it at the château d’Ionis?”
“Certainly, monsieur, I see it and recognize it perfectly. It is the
same one that you lost over there and that I found between two tiles;
but I swear upon my honor, that I don’t know how it came here, and when
I turned down your bed I saw nothing on your pillow.”
“Perhaps thou canst tell me one thing at least, that I have never dared
to ask thee since that fever that made me delirious for several hours.
Who was it that took this ring away from me at the castle d’Ionis?”
“I know no more than you, monsieur. Seeing that it was not on your
finger I thought you had hidden it—so that you might not compromise——.”
“Whom? Explain thyself.”
“_Dame_, monsieur; did not Madame d’Ionis give it to you?”
“Certainly not.”
“To be sure, monsieur is not bound to tell me. But it must be she who
sent it back to you.”
“Hast thou seen any one from her house here to-day?”
“No, sir, no one. But whoever carried out the directions, nevertheless,
knows the ways of the house.”
As I saw that I would gain nothing by the examination of material
things, I bade Baptiste good-night and gave myself up to my accustomed
reveries. This affair could no longer be explained naturally. This ring
contained the secret of my destiny. I was grieved to disobey my immortal
nymph, and at the same time I was happy in thinking that she was keeping
her promise of watching over me.
I did not close my eyes that night. My poor head was sick as well as my
heart. Ought I to disobey the arbitress of my destiny? Ought I to
sacrifice my honor to her? I was too much involved with M. d’Aillane to
retract my words. At times I entertained the thought of suicide so that
I might escape from the torment of an existence which I no longer
understood, and then I comforted myself with the idea that this terrible
and delightful device—“Thy life belongs to me alone”—did not have the
same meaning that I had at first supposed, and I resolved to pay no
attention to it, persuading myself that the maiden would appear to me at
the place of meeting, if she wished to prevent it.
But why did she not now appear to me in person if she wished to put an
end to my perplexities? I called upon her with the ardor of despair.
“The trial is too long and too cruel,” said I, “it will cost me my life
and my reason. If I must live for thee, if I belong to thee——.”
A loud rapping at the street door made me tremble. It was not yet
daylight. I was the only one in the house awake. I dressed myself
hurriedly. A second knock was heard, then came a third, just as I rushed
into the vestibule.
I opened the door all in a tremble. I know not what connection there was
in my mind between this nocturnal visit and the cause of my anguish; but
whoever the visitor might be, I had a presentiment that all would now be
satisfactorily arranged. And such proved to be the case, although I
could not then understand the connection with subsequent events that
were soon to extricate me from my position.
The visitor was one of Madame d’Ionis’ servants who came post haste with
a letter for my father or for myself, as it was addressed to both.
While they were getting up in the house to answer the summons, I read
the following: “Stop the law suit. I have this moment received and now
transmit to you a serious piece of news which releases you from your
engagements with M. d’Ionis. He is no more. You will receive the
official tidings during the day.”
I carried the letter to my father.
“_À la bonne heure_!” said he. “This is a fortunate piece of business
for our beautiful client, if this disagreeable dead man does not leave
her too many debts; a fortunate thing, too, for the d’Aillanes. The
court will lose the opportunity of rendering a fine judgment, and thou
that of making a fine speech. Come—let us go to sleep again, since there
is nothing better to do.”
He turned over towards the wall; then called me back as I was leaving
the room.
“My dear child,” said he, “one thing worries my mind, and that is if you
are in love with Madame d’Ionis, and if she is left penniless”——
“No, no, father,” I cried, “I am not in love with Madame d’Ionis.”
“But you have been? Come, speak the truth, and that is the cause of this
change for the better in thee. The ambitious tastes which thou hast
developed and the melancholy which worries thy mother so much.”——
“Certainly,” said my mother, who had been awakened by the knocking at
such an unaccustomed hour, and who came into the room in her nightcap
while we were talking, “be sincere now, my dear son. You love this
beautiful lady and I even think you are beloved by her? Well then,
confess to your parents.”
“I am perfectly willing to confess,” I replied, kissing my mother. “I
was in love with Madame d’Ionis for two days; but I was cured on the
third day.”
“Upon your honor?” said my father.
“Upon my honor.”
“And the reason for this change?”
“Do not ask me, I cannot tell you.”
“I know the reason,” said my father, laughing and yawning at the same
time, “it is because little Madam d’Ionis and this handsome cousin ‘who
doesn’t know her.’ But this is no time for gossip upon such subjects. It
is only five o’clock, and since my son will neither make love or make
speeches to-day, I intend to sleep all the morning.”
Relieved from anxiety concerning the duel, I took a little rest. During
the day, the news of M. d’Ionis’ decease, which took place at Vienna
fifteen days before (news did not travel so quickly then as now), was
published in the city, and the suit suspended in view of a speedy
arrangement between the parties concerned.
In the evening we received a visit from young d’Aillane. He came to beg
my father’s pardon, and this time I granted it gladly. Notwithstanding
the serious manner in which he spoke of M. d’Ionis’ death, we could
easily see that he concealed his joy with difficulty. He took supper
with us; after which he followed me into my room.
“My dear friend,” said he, “for you must allow me to call you such
henceforth, I would like to unburden my heart to you, which overflows in
spite of myself. You do not consider me so interested, I hope, as to
think I am so wild with joy, over the close of this suit. The secret of
my happiness”——
“Don’t speak of it,” said I, “we know it, we have guessed it.”
“And why should I not speak of it to you, who deserve so much esteem and
inspire so much affection? Do not think that you are a stranger to me.
It is now three months since I have been giving an account of all your
actions and your successes to”——
“To whom, pray?”
“To Madame d’Ionis. She was very anxious about you for some time after
your stay at her house. To such an extent that I became jealous. She
reassured me on that point, however, by explaining to me that you were
seriously ill there for twenty-four hours.”
“Then,” said I, with some anxiety, “as she has no secrets from you, she
must have told you the cause of those hours of delirium?”
“Yes, don’t worry yourself about it; she has told me everything, and
without either of us thinking of making light of it. On the contrary, we
were very sad over it, and Madame d’Ionis reproached herself for
allowing you to tamper with certain ideas of a dangerous nature. All
that I know about it myself, is that though I may swear like a trooper
that I do not believe in the green ladies, I would never have had
sufficient courage to summon them a second time. And, besides, if they
had appeared I would have certainly broken everything in the room, and
you whom I so stupidly irritated yesterday, your bravery, as regards
supernatural affairs, far excels my curiosity.”
This amiable youth, who was then on leave of absence came to see me
every day, and we soon grew very intimate. He could not show himself yet
at the château d’Ionis, and he awaited with impatience the time when his
beloved and beautiful cousin would permit him to present himself, after
she had consecrated the first period of mourning, _aux convenances_. He
would have preferred taking up his abode in some town nearer her
residence, but she had forbidden him to do so in due form, unwilling to
rely upon the prudence of a _fiancé_ so much in love.
Besides, he said that he had business at Angers, although he could not
explain what it was, and he did not appear to interest himself much in
it, as he passed all his time with me.
He told me all about his love affair with Madame d’Ionis. They had been
destined for each other and their love had been mutual from infancy.
Caroline had been sacrificed to ambition and placed in a convent to
break up their intimacy. They had seen each other secretly before and
since her marriage with M. d’Ionis. The young captain did not consider
himself bound to make any mystery of it, as their relations had been
always of a perfectly pure nature.
“Had it been otherwise,” said he, “I would not be quite so confiding.”
His confidences, which I had at first repelled, ended by winning me
over. His was one of those frank and open natures which no one could
resist. He questioned me persistently, and seemed to understand the art
of doing so without appearing either curious or importunate. You could
not help feeling that he was really interested in you, and that he
wished those whom he loved to be as happy as himself.
I allowed myself then to go as far as to tell him the whole of my story,
and even to confess the strange passion that dominated me. He listened
to me very seriously and assured me he saw nothing absurd in my love.
Instead of trying to make me forget it, he advised me to complete the
task I had set myself of becoming a good and worthy man.
“When you have accomplished this,” said he, “either some miracle will
happen to you, or rather your mind, no longer perturbed, will recognize
that it has wandered in pursuit of some sweet chimera; some still
sweeter reality will then replace it, and your virtues as well as your
talents will none the less prove blessings of inestimable value.”
“Never,” I replied, “I will never love another than the heroine of my
dream.”
And in order to prove to him how all my thoughts were absorbed, I showed
him the verses and prose that I had written under the empire of this
exclusive passion. He read and reread them with the frank enthusiasm of
friendship. Had I been willing to accept his decision, I would have
thought myself a great poet. He soon knew the best pieces in my
collection by heart, and recited them to me with fervor, in our walks to
the old castle of Angers and in the charming environs of the city. I
resisted his desire that they should be printed. I could make verses for
my own pleasure and for the relief of my troubled soul, but it would not
answer for me to seek the renown of a poet. At that period, and among
the people with whom I lived, it would have cast great discredit upon my
profession.
At last the day came when he was allowed to make his appearance at the
château d’Ionis, which Caroline had never left during the three months
of her widowhood. He received a letter from her and read me the
postscript. I was invited to accompany him in terms at once ceremonious
and affectionate.