PAID IN FULL.
And whither, then, had Fanny vanished so suddenly, so untraceably, with
her aunt?
It was with a feeling of despair that Teresa had listened to her niece's
confession. The girl had told her honestly that she was in love, in love
body and soul, with all the fervour of her nature, with an ideal whom
she had believed to be identical with the benefactor whose benefits she
had one day meant to repay with a love stronger than death; and now,
discovering that her secret patron was not he whom she had dreamed of,
he whom once she had actually seen, and could never again forget, her
heart was full of horror. She now felt that she had acted improperly in
accepting money from that other man under any pretext whatsoever, for by
so doing she had placed herself under an obligation, and she trembled at
the thought of it, and feared to show her face in the street lest she
should meet him. A distrust of that face grew up in her heart, and she
shuddered at the idea that _that_ man was thinking of her, perhaps. Ah,
that was indeed a thorn in her soul! And the other, the ideal, there was
no reason for thinking of him at all now; and yet cast him out of her
heart again she could not. She knew him not, she knew not even his name,
yet she felt that she would love him henceforth to the last moment of
her life.
Poor Alexander!
So Teresa saw the labours of these many years all in ruins, and in the
bitterness of her despair she brought herself to take a step which, at
one time, the greatest misery would have been powerless to make her
do--she went to Boltay, told him everything, and entreated him to
defend, to protect the girl, for this was a case where female protection
was insufficient.
Boltay accepted the guardianship with joy. The coarse-handed artisan's
big face turned dark red with rage, and he did not go to his factory
that day, lest he should pitch into some one; but he gave orders that
Teresa's belongings should be carried into his house that very night.
Alexander, who heard everything, became very sorrowful, but was doubly
attentive to Fanny. It was a case of hopeless love all round. He loved
the girl and the girl loved another, and both were very unhappy.
Every one in the family knew the secret, but nobody said a word about
it. The two old people often laid their heads together, and sometimes
Alexander was admitted to this family council.
The good old people tried to find out the name of the unknown nobleman,
as they wanted to send back to him the whole of the money that he had
forwarded to Fanny. A debtor under such an obligation could not feel
free. They wanted to pay him back as soon as possible, in just the same
coin, florin for florin, three thousand down in one lump, lest any one
should say he did not get back exactly what he had given.
Yes, but how were they to find out his name? Fanny herself did not know
it, and she would not have pointed him out in the street if she had had
to die for it. Boltay took the trouble to frequent the coffee-houses and
the meetings of the merchants, and listened with all his ears in case he
might hear any talk of a shop-girl who had accepted earnest money from
a rich gentleman as the price of her virtue. But there was no such talk
anywhere. This was reassuring in one way, as tending to show that nobody
knew anything about it, and therefore the trouble was not so great as it
might have been; but the name, the name?
At last Abellino himself came to help them in their search.
Alexander used to go every Sunday to the church which Dame Kramm
frequented, and, leaning against a column, would watch to see with whom
the spinster conversed.
On the third Sunday Abellino appeared upon the scene also.
The worthy spinster told him the marvellous story of how Fanny and her
aunt had unexpectedly disappeared one night without telling her whither
they had gone, which was not very nice of them; but she suspected that
they had flitted to Mr. Boltay's house, and Teresa had kept it quiet, no
doubt, because there had been certain relations between her and Boltay
in their younger days, or perhaps she went to see him because Boltay's
adopted son wanted to marry Fanny. As for herself, she did not mean to
trouble her head about them any more.
Abellino bit his lips till the blood came, he was so angry. Could these
Philistines smell a rat, then?
"What sort of an artisan is this Boltay?" he inquired of Dame Kramm.
"A carpenter," was the reply.
"A carpenter!" and in a moment Abellino had a new plan already in his
head.
"Well, God be with you, madam!" said he; and, having no further use of
her, he hurried out of the building, with Alexander at his heels. So at
last, then, he had found the tempter in church.
Abellino marched rapidly to the corner of the street, with Alexander
after him all the way. There he got into a carriage which was awaiting
him. Alexander threw himself into a hackney-coach and trundled after
him. He overtook him at the Michael Gate, and here the gentleman got
out, while the carriage clattered into the courtyard. A big porter in
bearskins was standing at the entrance.
"Who was that gentleman who went in there just now?" inquired Alexander
of the porter.
"The Honourable Abellino Kárpáthy, of Kárpáth."
"Thank you."
So his name, then, was Abellino Kárpáthy! Alexander hastened home with
his discovery.
On that day the whole family had such a vicious expression of
countenance that every one who came to see them was positively afraid of
them.
The following day was a work-day, so everybody went about his own
business. Mr. Boltay, with his sleeves tucked up, worked away with a
will among his apprentices; but in vain was all the noise and
racket--every tool he took up seemed to repeat one name continually in
his ear, Kárpáthy, Kárpáthy!
Meanwhile Teresa and Fanny were sitting at one of the windows
overlooking the street, occupied with needlework. They spoke not a word
to each other; it was a way they had got into lately.
Suddenly a handsome carriage turned into the street, and stopped in
front of Boltay's house.
Fanny, young girl as she was, peeped out of the window. The person
sitting in the carriage was just about to get out. Terrified, all
trembling, she drew back her head; her face was pale, her eyes looked
feverish, her hands hung down by her side.
Presently the footsteps of the visitor were audible on the staircase.
They heard some one outside making inquiries in an arrogant tone, and
then the antechamber also was invaded. Would he presume, then, to come
into their room also?
Fanny leaped from her chair, and, rushing despairingly to her aunt,
knelt down before her and hid her face in her bosom, sobbing loudly.
"Don't be afraid! don't be afraid!" whispered Teresa; but every muscle
in her body trembled. "I am here."
But at that moment the outer door also opened, and Mr. Boltay entered
the antechamber in time to receive the newly arrived guest.
"Ah, good day!" cried that gentleman with friendly condescension, as he
caught sight of the artisan. "Mr. Boltay, I presume? Ah, I thought so,
my worthy fellow! You have a great reputation everywhere; they praise
your workmanship to the skies, my good, honest fellow. Fresh from your
workshop, eh? Well, that, now, is what I like to see. I hold industrious
citizens in the highest esteem."
Mr. Boltay was not the sort of man to accept indiscriminate laudation
from any one, so he somewhat curtly interrupted this eulogistic flux of
words.
"To whom have I the pleasure of speaking, pray? and what are your
honour's commands?"
"I am Abellino Kárpáthy," replied the stranger.
It was only the armoury behind him that prevented Mr. Boltay from
falling flat. On such a surprise as this he had not counted.
The great gentleman did not condescend to observe the expression of the
artisan's face, opining, as he no doubt did, that an artisan's face has
no business to have any expression whatever; but he continued as
follows:--
"I have come to you to bespeak an order for a whole _établissement_, and
I have come personally because I hear that you draw very fine, artistic
specimens of furniture."
"Sir, it is not I who draw, but my head apprentice, who lives at Paris."
"That doesn't matter. I have come myself, I say, that I may choose from
these patterns, for I should like something particularly neat, and at
the same time a simple middle-class production, quite in the
middle-class style, you understand. And I'll tell you why. I am about to
marry, and my future wife is a young girl, a citizen's daughter. Does it
surprise you that I am going to make a middle-class girl my actual,
lawful wife? Why do I do this? you may ask. Well, I have my own special
reasons for it. I am a bit of an oddity, you must know. My father before
me was an oddity, and so is every member of my family. Now, I had
resolved to marry, and my sweetheart was a small tradesman's daughter,
who used to sing beautifully in church."
Aha! the old story!
"And marry her I would have done," continued the fluent dandy, "but the
poor thing died. I then determined that I would never marry until I had
found another middle-class girl who should be just as beautiful, just as
virtuous, as she was, and who could sing the 'Stabat Mater' just as
nicely. And now I have been knocking about in the world these nine years
without being able to find what I seek; for either she whom I found sang
well and was not beautiful, or she was beautiful but not virtuous, or
she was virtuous but could not sing, and therefore could not be mine.
And now, sir, in this little town, I have actually found at last the
very thing I seek--a girl who is beautiful, virtuous, and can sing; and
her I am going to take to wife. So now I want your advice as to what
sort of furniture I am to give her as wedding-present."
All these words were plainly audible in the adjoining room. Teresa
involuntarily covered Fanny's head, which was hidden in her breast, as
if she feared that this artless tale would win her credence, and so
deceive her youthful mind, for young girls are so very credulous. Why,
they even inquire of the flowers, "Does he love me, or does he not love
me?" What will they not do, then, if any one looks straight into their
eyes?
Mr. Boltay had gradually pulled himself together during the course of
this speech, and all the answer he gave when it was quite finished was
to step to a writing-table, search diligently for something, and begin
to write rapidly.
"I suppose he is looking up his patterns and making out his account,"
thought Abellino to himself; and meanwhile he began looking about him,
wondering in which of the rooms this Philistine kept his little
sugar-plum, and whether the girl had heard what he had just been saying.
The master-carpenter had by this time finished his scribbling and
rummaging, and he now beckoned Kárpáthy to the table, and counted out
before him a bundle of hundred-florin notes in six lots, together with
four florins in twenty-kreutzer pieces, and thirty red copper kreutzers
besides.
"Look here!" said he; "count. There are one, two, three, four, five, six
thousand florins in notes, twenty florins in silver, and thirty copper
pieces"--and he indicated the money with a wave of his hand.
"What the deuce does this Philistine mean by showing his dirty halfpence
to me?" thought Abellino.
"And now be so good as to sit down and write me a receipt."
And he thrust into the young gentleman's hand a form of receipt for six
thousand florins, with four florins thirty kreutzers interest, which
amount was declared to have been a loan to the undermentioned "Miss
Fanny Meyer," but was now discharged in full on the date indicated.
Abellino was immensely surprised. That these dull Philistines with fat,
fleshy cheeks should see through his whole design--for this he was not
in the least prepared. On the other hand, he could not have had a better
opportunity for playing the injured gentleman.
With silent, grandseignorial, superciliousness he surveyed the artisan
from head to foot, cracking his horse-whip once or twice by way of
expressing that language was here superfluous, then he turned to go.
All this time there was deep silence in the room, and the trembling
women in the adjoining chamber hung upon this silence with beating
hearts, well aware what a storm of passion was brooding within it.
Boltay, perceiving that the dandy was preparing to withdraw, spoke once
more in a voice all the more emphatic because of its visibly suppressed
emotion.
"Take that money, sir, and subscribe that receipt, for I assure you you
will be sorry if you do not."
Kárpáthy turned contemptuously on his heel and, banging the door to
behind him, withdrew. Only when he was already sitting in his carriage
did the thought occur to him--"Why did I not box that man's ears?" And
yet, somehow, he could not help feeling very thankful that he had
omitted doing so.
Abellino durst not recount this scene to his comrades. He felt that
whatever turn he might give to the affair, the artisan could not fail to
appear triumphant.
But the matter did not end here.
Master Boltay did not put back in his pocket the money lying on the
table, but swept it up, sent it to the editor of the _Pressburger
Zeitung_, and the next day the following notice was to be read in the
columns of that respectable newspaper: "A pater-familias residing in
this town presents through us six thousand florins thirty kreutzers to
the civic hospital, which amount the honourable Abellino Kárpáthy was
pleased to offer as a gift to the daughter of the donor in question,
who, however, thought the sum more suitably applied to charitable
purposes."
The affair made a great stir. The name advertised was well known in the
highest circles. Some were amused, others amazed at the comic
announcement. A couple of wits belonging to the opposition complimented
Abellino in front of the green table in the name of suffering humanity.
As for Abellino, he strutted up and down the town all day on the
offchance of calling some one out; but as nobody gave him the
opportunity, he and the other young elegants finally held a conference
at the Meyers' house, and it was decided that a challenge should be sent
to this advertising pater-familias.
"What, Master Boltay? The master-carpenter! Why, that would be a mere
jest. Suppose he refused to come out? Why, then he shall be insulted all
over the place till he is forced to leave Pressburg."
"But why?"
"Why, to frighten the Philistine, of course. Cow him, tame him, take all
the pluck out of him. Why, there's not a more amiable fellow in the
world than a thoroughly cowed and tamed foe, for he will always be
trying to make up for his earlier misdeeds. And then? Why, then the
enchanted maiden, her guardian dragon once subdued, will fall an easy
prey."
As to whether it was becoming for a person of quality to fight a duel
with an artisan who perhaps was no gentleman, or, if he was, had
forfeited the respect due to a gentleman by engaging in manual labour in
order to live thereby, such a question never once arose. We all know
what these honest Philistines are, and how they shake with terror even
when they have to fire off their own guns on the occasion of the solemn
procession on Corpus Christi Day! He'll never accept the duel, but will
give explanations and offer apologies, and we'll drink a toast together
with the pretty little fugitive, as Hebe, pouring wine into our glasses
and love into our hearts. That will be the most natural termination to
such an affair.
So in the afternoon Abellino sent his seconds to the carpenter. The
first was named Livius. In all affairs of honour his opinion was a
veritable canon to the _jeunesse dorée_ of the day. The other second,
Conrad, was an herculean, athletic-looking fellow, whom, on that very
account, every challenger tried to secure in those cases when a little
judicious bullying might be necessary. This swash-buckler had, moreover,
a most imposing countenance, and a voice capable of frightening even a
bear back into its den.
These two estimable gentlemen then, having, _pro superabundante_,
written out the challenge, in case the Philistine should deny himself or
hide away from them, sought out the house of Mr. Boltay and made their
way into his workroom.
The master was not at home. He had got into a cart very early in the
morning with Teresa and Fanny, and from the nature of his arrangements
there was reason to suspect that he would be absent for some time.
Alone in the room sat Alexander drawing patterns on a piece of paper
fastened to the table.
The two gentlemen wished him _bon jour_. He responded in a similar
strain, and, approaching, asked them what were their commands.
"Hem! young man!" began Conrad, in a thunderous voice, "is this Master
Boltay's house?"
"It is," replied Alexander. There is surely no need for much growling,
thought he.
Conrad, snorting violently, glanced round the room like one of those
fairy-tale dragons that scents human flesh, and then roared--
"Let the master be sent for!"
"He is not at home."
Conrad glanced at Livius, murmuring, "Didn't I say so?" Whereupon he
planted one fist on the table, flung the other behind his back, and
thrusting forward his chest, regarded the youth with a savage stare.
"Then where _is_ the master?"
"He did not so far honour me with his confidence as to tell me," replied
Alexander, who had sufficient _sang-froid_ to assume an expression of
utter indifference.
"'Tis well," said Conrad, and he drew from an inner pocket a sealed
letter. "What's your name, young man?"
Alexander began looking at his interlocutor with surprise and annoyance.
"Come, come!" said Conrad, "don't be afraid. I don't mean to frighten
you. I only want to know your name."
"My name is Alexander Barna."
Conrad took a note of the fact in his pocket-book, and then
ceremoniously holding the letter by the edge of the envelope, he said--
"Then listen to me, my dear _Mr._ Alexander Barna." He laid particular
stress upon the word "Mr." that the lad might be duly sensible of the
honour done to him thereby. "This letter tells your master----"
"You may give it me, sir. I am Mr. Boltay's confidential agent, and
during his absence he has entrusted me with the transaction of all his
business."
"Then take this letter," remarked Conrad in voice of thunder; and was
on the point of adding something of a very imposing character, when
Alexander completely disconcerted him by indiscreetly tearing open the
letter addressed to his master, and approaching the window that he might
be able to read it better.
"What are you doing?" cried both the seconds at the same time.
"I am authorized by Mr. Boltay during his absence to open all letters
addressed to him, and discharge all debts or claims that may come in."
"But this is a purely personal matter which does not concern you."
Meanwhile Alexander had been glancing through the letter. He now came
straight towards the two seconds.
"Gentlemen, I am at your service," he said.
"How! What business is it of yours?"
"Mr. Boltay has empowered me to satisfy any claim whatever that may be
made upon him."
"Well, what then?"
"Why, then," said Alexander, smoothing out the letter with his hand, "I
am ready to settle this account also whenever and wherever you please."
Conrad looked at Livius. "This lad seems disposed to joke with us," said
he.
"I am not joking, gentlemen. Since yesterday I have become Mr. Boltay's
partner, and all the obligations of the firm are binding upon both of us
equally. The credit of the establishment demands it."
Conrad began to doubt whether the youth was in his right mind or knew
how to read.
"Have you read what is in that letter?" he roared.
"Yes. It is a challenge."
"And what right have you to accept a challenge which is meant for some
one else?"
"Because my partner, my foster-father, is not present, and everything,
be it ill or good fortune, disaster or annoyance, which touches him,
touches me equally. If he were present he would answer for himself. Now,
however, he is away, and he has his own reasons, no doubt, for not
telling me whither he has gone or how long he will be absent; and
therefore, gentlemen, you must either take away this challenge or let me
give you satisfaction."
Conrad drew Livius aside to consult him as to whether this was regular
according to duelling rules. Livius recalled similar cases, but only as
between gentlemen.
"Hark ye, Alexander Barna," said Conrad, "what you propose is only usual
among gentlemen."
"Well, gentlemen, I am not the challenger; the challenge comes from
you."
This was unanswerable.
Conrad folded his terrific arms over his immense chest, and roared this
question almost down the young man's throat--
"Can you fight?"
Alexander could scarce refrain from smiling. "I can fight with either
swords or pistols, gentlemen," said he; "'tis all one to me. Let me tell
you that I was at Waterloo and there won a decoration."
"Who are your seconds?" asked Livius, coldly. "Give me the names of two
of your acquaintances."
"My acquaintances are all peaceable working men, who would have nothing
to do with so risky an affair. I might possibly shoot down the
challenger, and in that case, I should not like to make exiles of two
innocent men; but if you will be so good as to choose for me two seconds
from your own honourable circle, I will accept them whoever they may
be."
"We will let you know the time and place of the meeting at once," said
Livius; and with that they took up their hats and withdrew.
"It seems to me," said Livius to Conrad, as they went away, "that that
young fellow has as stout a heart as any gentleman could have."
"We'll see what he's made of early to-morrow morning," returned the
other.
That same evening a gorgeous silver-laced heyduke might have been seen
looking for Master Boltay's workshop, and making inquiries for Alexander
Barna. There was a letter in his hand.
"Be so good as to tell me," said the heyduke in a courteous voice (a
sure sign that he was accustomed to polite treatment from his
superiors), "whether you used to work in Monsieur Gaudehoux's _atelier_
at Paris?"
"Yes, I did."
"And three years ago you met three Hungarian gentlemen in the
Ermenouville Forest, did you not?"
"Yes, I did meet them," replied Alexander, surprised that anybody should
bear in mind such _minutiæ_ of his past life.
"Then this letter will be meant for you," said the heyduke, delivering
the letter. "Be so good as to read it. I await a reply."
Alexander broke open the letter, and, as was his wont, looked first of
all at the signature. A cry of astonishment burst from his lips. There
stood two names written one beneath the other which every Hungarian, who
accounted himself a good patriot and a man of honour and enlightenment,
held in the highest veneration--Rudolf and Michael.
What could such as they have to write to a poor orphan like him, they
the great men, the idols of the nation, the popular heroes of the day,
to a poor unknown artisan like him?
The letter said--
"You worthy young man, you have acted quite rightly. In your place any
one of us would have done the same thing. If you will accept our
assistance, for old acquaintance sake, we are ready to place our service
as gentlemen at your disposal."
Alexander folded up the letter with great satisfaction. He had a vivid
recollection of the two young noblemen who had met him by accident at
Paris, and treated him as a friend.
"I am much honoured by their lordships' offer," said he, turning to the
heyduke, "and will accept it in any case."
The messenger respectfully bowed and withdrew.
In half an hour's time Rudolf and Michael appeared, and the former said
that a written authorization on Alexander's part was necessary, lest
Conrad and Livius should give him seconds that he did not like.
"Then there are others, also, who would offer their assistance?"
"Oh, no end to them! There is quite a competition among these young
lions as to which of them shall be present at the tragi-comedy, as they
call it."
"It will not be a tragi-comedy; I can tell them that."
"That is principally what induced us to offer you our services. We do
not see any particular glory in hounding men on against each other, and
making them fight duels which our age, unfortunately, considers such an
excellent pastime. On the other hand, we regard it as our duty as
gentlemen to offer you our assistance, and thereby put a stop to what
might become a senseless and insulting jest, which if our
feather-brained friends had their way might even have a very serious
termination."
Alexander thanked them for their kindness, and early next morning the
two young men appeared again in a hired coach. Alexander was ready
waiting for them. He had only to seal a few letters which he had written
overnight, one to his master, reporting in what state he had left the
business, and the other to Fanny, begging her to do him the favour to
accept as his heir the little property which his thrift had accumulated.
These letters, enclosed in a third envelope, he gave to the caretaker of
the house, with the request that if he, Alexander, did not return by
twelve o'clock, the envelope was to be opened and the documents inside
forwarded to their respective addresses. Then he got into the carriage
where Rudolf and Michael were awaiting him; a surgeon followed them in
another carriage.
The youths were surprised to observe that the young artisan's face
showed no signs of anxiety or trouble, nay, he bore himself as calmly
and nonchalantly as if he were used to such situations.
It was still very early when they crossed the bridge leading into the
park, where a freshly erected tent was standing. The youths then told
the coachman to stop, and asked Alexander whether he would not like a
little breakfast first of all.
"No, thank you," he replied. "People might say I wanted something to put
pluck into me. Let us say afterwards--if an afterwards there be!" he
added lightly, and in the best of humours.
They proceeded onwards through the wood to the spot agreed upon, and
they had not waited more than a few moments before their antagonists
also arrived upon the ground.
It was a cloudy, gloomy morning, and there was an expression of gloomy
_sang-froid_ on the faces of the young men which suited very well with
the morning.
The enemy, smiling, and with nonchalant haughtiness, came strolling arm
in arm through the silver poplar woods--Abellino, the large-limbed
Conrad, and Livius. A surgeon and a servant brought up the rear.
The four seconds went apart and conversed together in a low voice; they
were evidently arranging the details of the affair. They soon came to an
agreement. The extreme retiring distance was fixed at five-and-forty
paces, the barriers at five-and-twenty.
During this negociation, Abellino produced a pair of good flint-locked
Schneller pistols, and exhibited his skill before the company. He
ordered his lackey to throw linden leaves up into the air in front of
him, and riddled them with bullets three times running. This he did
simply to fill the adversary with terror. Michael, fathoming his object,
whispered confidentially in the young artisan's ear--
"We are not going to fire with those pistols, but with ours, which are
quite new, and it will not be so easy to show off with them."
Alexander smiled bitterly. "It is all one to me. My life is no more
precious to me than those linden leaves."
All the necessary formalities having been arranged, the seconds
attempted to reconcile the combatants. Abellino thereupon offered to
withdraw his challenge under two conditions: (1) If the challenged, in
the name of the firm he was defending, publicly declared that there was
no intention to insult in the advertisement complained of, and (2) if
Mr. Boltay caused to be inserted in the same newspaper in which the
offensive advertisement had appeared a notification to the effect that
Kárpáthy had given the amount in question to the girl's guardian from
purely artistic motives of the noblest description.
Alexander's seconds laid these conditions before him.
He immediately sent one of them back. Did they wish to insult him? He
meant in the plainest, most unmistakable manner, and with the fullest
knowledge of what he was doing, to take all the responsibility of the
alleged insult on his own shoulders, and he had nothing to retract.
Ah! he had far better reasons for fighting than the mere love of
swagger. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to fight.
Conrad thereupon turned towards the surgeon whom they had brought with
them, and roared in a stentorian voice--
"Have you your instruments with you? Then, mind you hold them in
readiness. There will not be much need of blood-letting, I fancy. What!
not brought your bone-saw with you, eh? My friend, your thoughtlessness
is disgraceful! It happens in duels sometimes that a man is not shot
through the head or the heart straight off; but the bullet may hit him
in the arm or leg, and then if the bone is injured and he has to wait
for an amputation till he is carried into town erysipelas may set in."
"Take your places, gentlemen! take your places!" shouted Rudolf, putting
an end to this cruel prolonging of the agony.
Abellino thereupon pierced his fourth linden leaf at twenty-five paces.
"Those pistols must be put aside, as they are evidently old
acquaintances," said Rudolf. "Mine are new."
"We agree," replied Conrad; "only you must take care," he continued,
turning towards Abellino, "that when you prepare to take aim you do not
lower your arm from your shoulder downwards, but raise it from your hip
gradually upwards, so that if you aim at the chest, and the pistol kicks
downwards, you may be able to hit him in the stomach, but if it kicks
upwards you may hit him in the skull."
Meanwhile they were loading the pistols, dropping the bullets into the
barrels in every one's sight. The challenged party then chose one of
them.
Then the antagonists were placed at the two extremities of the ground,
and the barriers were indicated by white pocket-handkerchiefs.
The seconds stepped aside, forming two separate groups. Conrad placed
himself behind a huge poplar, capable of shielding even his bulky frame.
A clapping of hands, thrice repeated, was the signal for the opponents
to advance.
Alexander remained standing in his place for some seconds, holding his
pistol in his hand pointed downwards. A cold calmness was written on his
face--regret you might even have called it, were not regret under such
circumstances somewhat akin to cowardice. Abellino, holding himself
sideways, advanced with little mincing steps, frequently pointing his
pistol as if he were on the point of firing. He meant to torture his
adversary by holding him in suspense as long as possible without firing.
And you should have seen the malicious smile, the expression of teasing,
provoking scorn, with which Abellino tried to throw his adversary into
confusion. Why, a man who can pierce a falling leaf with a bullet, may
be pretty sure of his man in a duel!
"Poor young fellow!" sighed Rudolph to himself, while his fellow-second
was just about to call out to Abellino that such tricks were not
permissible in encounters between gentlemen, when Alexander suddenly
started from his place and walked with firm, unfaltering steps right up
to his barrier, there stopped, raised his pistol, and took aim. His eyes
sparkled with a strange fire, and his hand was perfectly steady.
This was an unheard-of audacity. Before the first shot it is most
unusual for any one to walk right up to his own barrier, for, in case of
ill luck, he gives his adversary a great advantage. This boldness,
however, had the effect of making Abellino stop short six paces from his
own barrier, and move away his thumb from the trigger of his pistol,
where he had hitherto held it.
What happened the next moment nobody was able to exactly explain.
A report rang out, and half a minute afterwards another. The seconds
hastened to the spot, and found Alexander standing erect in his place;
but Abellino had turned right round, and his hand was over his left ear.
The surgeons came running up with the others.
"Are you wounded?" they asked Abellino.
"No, no!" said he, keeping one hand continually over his ear. "Deuce
take that bullet, it flew so damned close to my ear that it has almost
made me deaf. I can't hear a word of what I am saying. Curse the bullet!
I would much rather that it had gone through my ribs."
"I wish it had with all my soul!" roared Conrad, who now came rushing
up. "You are a damned fool, for you shot me instead of your opponent!
Look, gentlemen! You see that tree by which I was standing? Well, the
bullet burrowed right into it. What! fire at your own seconds? Do you
call that discretion? If that tree had not been there, I should have
been as dead as a ducat--as dead as a ducat, I say!"
So this is what must have happened. At the very moment when Alexander's
bullet whizzed past Kárpáthy's ear he must have been so startled by the
shock as to have involuntarily wheeled round and clapped one hand to his
ear, and the same instant the loaded pistol in his other hand must have
gone off sideways. At any rate, Kárpáthy was found standing, after the
shot was fired, _with his back to his opponent_.
He himself heard none of Conrad's reproaches, and the blood slowly
began to trickle in little drops from his ear. He did not show it
otherwise, but from the paleness of his face it was plain that he was
suffering torments. The doctors whispered, too, that the membrane of the
ear was ruptured, and that all his life long he would be hard of
hearing.
Kárpáthy had to be conducted to his carriage. But for his sufferings he
would have sworn. He would much rather have had a bullet in his lungs.
Rudolf and Michael then approached the seconds of the opposite party,
and asked whether they considered the satisfaction given sufficient.
Livius admitted that everything was now perfectly in order, but Conrad
declared that he was so completely satisfied with this duel that he
would deserve to be called thief and robber if ever he took part in
another as long as he lived.
"Then be so good, gentlemen, as to receipt this bill," said Alexander,
turning to the seconds, and producing the written challenge which they
had addressed to his master. "Kindly write at the bottom of it,
'Discharged in full.'"
The seconds laughed immensely at the idea, and, procuring a pen and ink
from the first shanty they came to, they duly wrote at the bottom of the
challenge the words, "Paid in full."
The young man thereupon thrust the attested document into his pocket,
thanked his own seconds for their kind services, and returned on foot to
town.