Once more I was compelled to return to that apartment. It was torture to
me. How empty it seemed! and in fact it was empty; no wife, no child
about me. It was not Eugénie whom my eyes sought; she had avoided and
shunned my presence for a long while. It was my daughter, my little
Henriette--she did not avoid me! What a miserable night I passed! not a
moment’s sleep. I wondered if she who made me so unhappy was sleeping
quietly.
At last the day came, and at six o’clock Ernest was at my house. I took
my pistols; a cab was below, and I told the driver to go to Vincennes.
I did not say a word during the drive. Just as we arrived, Ernest said
to me:
“If you should fall, my friend, have you nothing to say, no orders to
give?”
“No, my dear Ernest, for except you and your wife, no one really cares
for me. My son is not old enough to understand the loss he would
sustain. My daughter--she would cry perhaps, and that is why nothing
must be said to her. Poor child! I do not want to make her shed a tear.”
We arrived, and I saw two men walking to and fro a few gun shots from
the château; they were Dulac and his second. We hurried toward them and
joined them; they bowed to us; I did not respond to the salute, but
strode on toward the woods.
I did not know Dulac’s second; he was not one of our circle; so much the
better. I do not know what Dulac had said to him, but I am convinced
that he was not deceived as to the motive which had caused me to pick a
quarrel with him the night before.
We stopped; the seconds gave us the weapons after examining them; then
they measured off the distance.
“Fire, monsieur,” I said to Dulac; “I am the aggressor.”
“No, monsieur,” he replied coldly; “it is for you to fire first, you are
the insulted party.”
I did not wait for him to say it again; I fired and missed him. It was
his turn; he hesitated.
“Fire,” I said to him; “remember, monsieur, that this affair cannot end
thus.”
He fired. I was not hit. Ernest handed me another pistol. I aimed at
Dulac again, I pulled the trigger, and he fell.