FACING THE MUSIC
Germain hastened back to Troyes, taking up Dominique on the way. It was
evening when his coach brought him past the gate sentry and through the
stray groups in the courtyard of the Quarters, so that he noticed
nothing particular until he entered Collinot's office to report himself.
The Adjutant received him with unusual stiffness. When he, soon after,
descended in his uniform and mounted to take command of the change of
sentries, the crisis arrived. A large, turbulent Guardsman refused to
salute him. Germain stopped, marked the man, and ordered his arrest.
"_You_ arrest me!" the private shouted, conscious of his equal rank with
the officers of the ordinary army; "you reptile, you huckster's son! You
order gentlemen about!--_you_, Lecour, the man of the stolen name!"
"Monsieur Brigadier, conduct this gentleman to the guardhouse," firmly
ordered Lecour.
He did it with so much dignity, despite the whiteness of his face, that
the Guardsmen--who had all been about to mutiny with their
comrade--recognised their duty, and obeyed his further commands. Their
hasty impression that the Canadian was an impostor was shaken by his
manner, and they silently agreed to await developments.
Immediately this brief service--which he performed to the letter--was
over, he changed costume quickly and walked into the card-room, where a
large company, including several Guards from Châlons, were engaged at
conversation and play. All eyes turned to him. He was seen to march
straight to the centre, and to stand a moment, pale and determined,
until all murmuring hushed.
"Gentlemen," he began, "I have just been insulted. I have been insulted,
but not so much by the man who lies under arrest, as by him, unknown to
me, who has been the cause of his offence. I am under no possible doubt
that all you who are present have heard the malignant falsehoods which
are being circulated about my origin within the past few days. Their
author, I am informed, is one Léry, a native of my country, who has
obtained in some way a position in the ranks of the company de Villeroy.
I wish to proclaim that I am about to demand of him a just
alternative--retraction or death."
"Bravo!" exclaimed a friendly voice--Grancey's. Germain had been
listened to with breathless attention, and approval appeared on many
countenances. His fellow-officers moved towards him. Even one of the
Guardsmen from Châlons, of de Léry's regiment, swore the latter had no
right to malign such a brave fellow.
"Adjutant de Collinot," he continued, "I appeal to you."
Collinot--the oracle of militarism--who was playing picquet, rose.
"Sir," said Germain, "I desire that this matter be regulated in the
manner that shall best preserve the honour of the company of Noailles,
of which you are the custodian. I must explain to you, for the regiment,
the facts concerning my title of Répentigny. The Marquis of that name,
it is true, is a Canadian, and was, until the British conquest a
generation ago, possessor of the estate of Répentigny, of which his
family, the LeGardeurs, have borne the name as their principal
designation. But this Léry, a man of very inferior pedigree,
notwithstanding his pretensions, has in his ignorance and presumption
overlooked a fact into which he should have at least inquired before
lying about a gentleman. He ought to be aware that the LeGardeurs have
ceased to possess Répentigny since the year 1763. Has he asked himself
what has become of it in the mean-time? Know then, sir, and gentlemen of
this company, that that seigniory being sold again, and again regranted
by the British Crown, has long ago become the property of my father in
perfect title. Does Monsieur Léry dispute the rule that a gentleman may
take the name of a property of his own or of his father's? Yet, in case
there be a technical defect for the purposes of a name in France, in the
fact that we unfortunately hold Répentigny of a foreign power, I am
ready--and indeed from this time forth intend--to recur to another name
about which no petty cavil can rise--for we are not so poor in titles as
to be confined to one--the original illustrious name of my
family--LeCour de Lincy. You, sir, have my attestation by the herald, in
the strictest form, and some of you, gentlemen officers, know under what
circumstances you have seen me in the family of the Chevalier de
Bailleul. I have one thing now to add to these evidences. As guardian,
sir, of the regiment, do me the honour and justice of examining these
papers"--here he handed him his new documents, and passed around the
family seal with its coat-of-arms. "Know me henceforth," he added,
"proven, by a designation above all question, error, or calumny, and
noble among the oldest in the kingdom--my ancestral name of LeCour de
Lincy. Adjutant, I respectfully demand your decision."
"The rules of the army," the latter answered, precise as usual, "are
satisfied by the attestation of the best authority in the realm on your
antiquity. The Company cannot take official notice of an unsustained
attack upon you; the defence of your honour in such a matter rests with
your own sword. Still, gentlemen, though not formally necessary, I am
pleased to hear a voluntary explanation so satisfactory to our military
family, whose duty it meanwhile is without doubt to support our
comrade."
And he saluted Germain.
The company present buzzed with agitation, and many began to speak low
together. Those from Châlons fixed their eyes towards a corner behind
Lecour.
And now in that direction a figure wearing the green cross-belt of the
company of Villeroy rose, pale, aristocratic, coldly calm, and said, "I
am de Léry."
The pallor that suddenly blanched Lecour's countenance as he turned in
the direction of the voice left it as quickly when he fully faced his
opponent. He measured him instantaneously, and the man he saw became
stamped indelibly on his mind's eye--a picture, in typical contemptuous
perfection of feature and dress, of the French aristocracy of the old
_régime_. The very chair on the back of which his hand rested seemed a
part of the type--one of those beautiful white chairs of the period, on
which, on snowy, glittering tapestry, was woven a Fable of Lafontaine in
matchless Gobelin dyes.
"Do you admit, sir, that you have defamed me?" Lecour cried, grasping
the hilt of his sword and advancing a foot.
"I defame nobody," Louis answered coldly.
"Have you not disseminated statements that my name is stolen?"
"I have said that the noble designation of Répentigny did not belong to
you--that its rightful owners are my uncle the Marquis of Répentigny,
now in Paris, and his family."
"Did you not know----"
"Stay, sir. I have also asserted that you are an impostor, the son of a
tradesman of Canada, formerly a private soldier of the Marquis de
Lotbinière, and that you have not the slightest claim to consort with
gentlemen, still less to belong to the Bodyguard, and less again to
become an officer."
"Liar! liar! liar! Léry, it is _you_ who are the impostor! You are
afraid of those who can tell the truth about you, but I did not conceive
that you would carry our colonial jealousies so far as this. Do you
persist or do you retract?"
"The scene becomes disagreeable," said some of those present to each
other.
"It is colonial jealousy, of course," said others. "What have we to do
with it?"
De Léry stood looking at Lecour without moving, in imperturbable
contempt.
"I demand satisfaction," the latter hissed.
De Léry moved only slightly.
"The laws of honour," said he, "would bid me answer the challenge of a
gentleman. But do you flatter yourself they compel me to cross steel
with such as you?"
This was the cruellest blow, and under it Germain winced wrathfully. It
was so cruel that those present murmured, and some cried "Shame!"
"You _shall_ meet me! You _must_ meet me! Besides a slanderer, you are a
coward. Your company, whom you disgrace, have honour enough to make you
meet me," called Germain in tones of rage.
"Accept! accept! accept!" cried the Guardsmen of the company of
Villeroy.
"You ask me to dishonour myself?--to cross swords with an animal?"
exclaimed de Léry, turning angrily to his comrades.
"Shame! shame!" was the cry around the room.
"Gentlemen of the Bodyguard," said Collinot, "I must remind you where
you are."
D'Amoreau and the Baron led Germain off to his chamber. There they sat
down, and d'Amoreau wrote out a challenge, which Grancey, whom Lecour
chose as his second, delivered without delay.
Germain was strung to a frightful tension. When his companions, at
Grancey's suggestion, left him alone, he locked the doors and a storm of
apprehensions took hold upon him. The situation presented itself in two
deadly alternatives, either his annihilation in eternal darkness, or
else that his rapier must let out the red life-stream of a man who,
hateful though he might be, was but a speaker of the truth. In that
case, all would come out and justice have to be settled with, both human
and divine. Yes, that extreme justice--to be banished for ever out of
the world of Cyrène. Was it not the better alternative to permit himself
to die by the first thrust of de Léry?