The French Secretary of Legation was just going to bed as his servant
handed him a card from Lord Norwood, with a few words scribbled in
pencil.
“Yes, by all means. Tell my Lord to come in,” said he; and Norwood
entered.
“You remember an old pledge you once made me,” said the Viscount,
smiling. “I have come to claim it.”
“_Diantre!_ the case must be pressing that would not wait till
daylight.”
“So it is; and so you will agree with me in thinking it when I tell you
all,” said Norwood. “The first point is, may I reckon upon you?”
“Of course; my word is sacred.”
“Secondly, have you pistols that you can depend upon? Mine have been
stopped at Milan by the police.”
“They are Jacquard's best,” said the Frenchman; “and in _your_ hand
ought not to disgrace their maker.”
“Dress, then, and come along with me. This affair must be disposed of
quickly.”
“I'm at your orders,” said the Frenchman, gayly. “I suppose you will be
kind enough to tell me something more as we go along.”
Norwood nodded an assent, and sat down before the fire and crossed his
arms on his breast.
“Was it a quarrel at play?” asked the Frenchman, after an interval of
silence.
“No!” was the abrupt reply.
“All the better. It is the only affair of this kind I cannot endure. Is
there a woman in it?”
“Yes.”
“Ah! I perceive,” said the other, with a laugh. “A married woman?”
“Yes.”
“And who is this happy husband, this time?” asked he, flippantly.
“I am,” replied Norwood, in a low and solemn voice.
“_You! you!_ I never thought--never suspected _you_ of being married,
Norwood. Pray be a little more explicit. Let me hear the whole story.”
“Later on, not now. I want to think of something else at this moment Are
your pistols fine in the trigger?”
“Excessively so; a fly would almost suffice to move them. Is he
English?”
“No.”
“Not a countryman of my own, I hope?”
“No. It is Midchekoff, the Russian.”
“_Diantre!_ what a mark to shoot at! But they tell me that he never does
go out,--that he refuses this kind of thing.”
“He shall not do so this time,” said Norwood, with a vehement energy of
manner.
“Well, I 'm ready now; but I must say that I should like to hear
something of what we are about.”
“There will be ample time for all as we go along. We shall drive to the
villa. It is necessary to obtain an interview with himself. This done,
I will give the provocation, showing that you are ready and in waiting;
there can be no delay.”
“But he will need a friend?”
“He must take one of his secretaries,----his valet if he prefer it I 'll
give no time for evasive negotiation.”
“I cannot be a party to an affair like this, Norwood. Whatever the wrong
you seek to avenge, this is not the mode to do it.”
“Say so at once, then,” said Norwood, rising. “Tell me that you gave a
rash promise, and are sorry for it Better the refusal now than when it
be too late to retract.”
“You mistake me; I have no wish to unsay one single word I ever spoke to
you. I only ask for such an explanation as I have a right to demand.”
“You shall know everything; pray spare me telling it twice over. There
is no use in opening one's wound till he comes to the surgeon. Enough
now, that I tell you this man owes me a full and fair reparation for a
great wrong; I am equally determined on exacting it. If this does not
satisfy you, step into the carriage and you shall hear the whole story.
I can tell it, perhaps, when we are rattling along over the stones in
the dark.” And so saying, he sat down and leaned his head on the table,
as though he would not be disturbed. The Frenchman went on with
his dressing, rapidly; and at last, pronouncing himself ready, they
descended the stairs together in silence, and entered the carriage.
As they drove on, Norwood never spoke; and his companion, respecting
perhaps the occasion of his silence, did not utter a word. At last they
arrived at the summit of the hill, and looked down upon the city, over
which the gray tints of coming day were breaking. The great Duomo and
the Palazzo Vecchio lay in massive shadow, and it was only at intervals
along the Arno that a flickering gleam of cold light fell. The scene, in
all its calm and stillness, was grand and solemn.
“How unlike the Florence of sun and bright sky, how unlike the brilliant
city of dissipation and pleasure!” said Norwood; “and so it is with
individuals: we are just what light and shadow make us! Now listen to
me.” He then related the whole story of his first meeting with Lola,
down to the moment of D'Esmonde's revelation. “I know well,” said he,
“there may be a dozen ways to look on the affair besides that which I
have chosen. I might dispute the marriage; I might disavow the whole
proceeding; I might, naturally enough, leave such a woman to her
fate,--she never could be anything to _me_; but I cannot relinquish the
opportunity of a reckoning with this Russian. The insolence of his
wealth gives all the venom to this outrage, and I 'll shoot him! All the
splendor of his riches can avail him but little now. And, except some
more gold upon his coffin, and a richer pall to cover it, he has no
advantage over me, ruined and beggared as I am. As to my scores with the
world at large, I am about quits. _They_ cheated _me_ when I was a
young, unsuspecting boy, trusting and believing every one. _I_ repaid
_them_, as my own time came. Men understand this thoroughly, but women
never do. The moment you cease to be _their_ dupe, they hate you. As to
my debts, they gave me little trouble when living, they 're not likely
to disturb my rest in the churchyard; and as for friends, there is not
one alive to whom I could send a last word of affection; and yet--you'll
scarcely believe it--with all this I 'd like to live; although if you
ask me why, I couldn't tell it Perhaps it is this,” cried he, after a
pause; “the yelping pack that cried me down in my absence will do so now
without fear or restraint The stories of me that once were whispered
will now be told aloud. Slander and calumny can go abroad without a
dread of consequences. But even that is a poor thing to live for!”
The Frenchman's philosophy had taught him but few sympathies with
such gloomy ideas, and he tried in every way to rally his friend; but
Norwood's mind was full of very different sorrows from those he had
dwelt upon. It was the canker of a disappointed, abortive life was
eating into his heart A fair fortune squandered, a noble name tarnished,
a high position sacrificed, and now an ignominious quarrel to close his
career,--these were the reflections which, far more embittering than all
his words, now tortured and agonized him.
“Come,” said he, suddenly, “we had better move forward. It is getting
nigh daybreak, and our Prince will soon be retiring to his room.”
They now drove rapidly on for some time, and at last reached the gate,
where the porter, at once recognizing Mor-lache's carriage and livery,
admitted them without a word.
“You 'll have to wait for me here, Count,” said Norwood, when they
stopped at the door. “I 'll contrive not to keep you long; but this part
of the matter I must do alone.” The bell had scarcely done ringing when
the door was opened. “The Prince is still at table?” said Norwood, half
in assertion, half in inquiry; and then, with a gesture to the servant
to show the way, he overawed all scruples about admitting him. “Is he
alone?” said the Viscount, as they went along.
“No, sir. The Countess is with him.”
“Say that a person on most pressing business is here, and must speak
with him at once.”
“The Prince always requires the name, sir. I dare not address him
without it.”
“Say that I am come from Morlache's,----that I have something to
deliver into his own hands.”
Norwood placed the casket on the table as he spoke. The servant retired,
and speedily returned, requesting Norwood to follow him. As the door was
flung open, Norwood heard voices; he stopped and hesitated. Either an
impulse of passion or some change of purpose worked within him; for,
as he stood, he grasped the edge of the door, and swayed to and fro for
some seconds.
“Let him come out,--let him come here,” cried he, in a loud voice.
A low murmur of persons speaking was heard within, and suddenly the
rustling sound of a female dress was followed by the bang of a door; and
then Norwood entered, and, closing the door, locked it behind him.
The grating sound of the key made the Russian turn his head suddenly
around, and his eyes met Norwood's.
“What! my Lord Norwood!” cried he, in amazement. “They never told me--”
“If they had, in all likelihood I should not have been admitted,” was
the stern reply.
“I must own it is an honor for which I was scarcely prepared, my Lord,”
said the other.
“You never spoke more truly, sir,” said Norwood. “Men like yourself
fancy that their solvency in matters of money implies as much in all the
various relations of life, and that, as they know not what a dun means,
they are to enjoy an equal immunity from every demand of honor.”
“As you are evidently speaking under some strange misapprehension, my
Lord, I hesitate about accepting your words in any offensive sense.”
“You said you were unprepared for my visit, sir, and I believe you,
as you will be, doubtless, unprepared for the object of it Prince
Midchekoff, I have come here to request your company across the
Tuscan frontier; the matter is of sufficient importance to warrant the
inconvenience. You will take any or as many of your household as you
please, but you shall accompany me from this spot Come, sir, your air of
easy indifference is for once mistimed. You see before you a man whose
utmost effort can scarcely repress the passion that stirs within him.
Neither your coolness nor your cowardice--for the quality goes by either
name--can avail you here. I must and I will have reparation.”
“Until I am aware of the injury,--until you tell me how or in what I
have wronged you--”
“How shall I teach you a lesson of honor; sir,” cried Norwood, boiling
over with rage, “so that you may comprehend, even for a moment, the
feeling of a gentleman? You cannot affect ignorance as to who and what
is the woman that sat there. You need not drive me to the indignity of
calling her my wife! You know it well, and you knew all the disgrace you
were heaping on a class who rejected your intimacy. None of this mock
surprise, sir! If you compel me to it, I 'll fling open that door, call
all your household around you, and before them I 'll insult you, so that
even your serf-blood will rebel against the outrage.”
“This is madness,----downright insanity, my Lord,” said Midchekoff,
rising and moving towards the bell.
“Not so, sir,” said Norwood, interposing. “My passion is now mastered.
You shall not escape on that pretence. There are my pistols; only one of
them is loaded; take your choice, for I see that outside of this room I
shall seek in vain for satisfaction.”
“This would be a murder.”
“It shall be, by Heaven, if you delay!” cried Norwood. “I have the right
and the will to shoot you like a dog. If there be no honor, is there
not even some manhood in your heart? Take your weapon; you hesitate
still,--take that, then!” And he struck him with his open hand across
the face.
[Illustration: 419]
Midchekoff snatched the pistol convulsively, and, placing the muzzle on
Norwood's breast, fired. With a wild cry he staggered and fell dead upon
the floor. The Prince flung open the door, and rang the bell violently.
In a moment the room was filled with servants. “Send Jocasse here,”
said Midchekoff; and his chief secretary entered in all haste and
trepidation. “This is an affair for the police, Jocasse,” said the
Prince, coolly. “Send for the brigadier, and let him come to my room.”
“Suicide shows a great _manque de savoir vivre_,” said Haggerstone, as
the news of the event was circulated through Florence. And the _mot_
survived the memory of its victim.