THE DUEL AT BELLEVUE.
We drove straight to Dalrymple's rooms, and, going in with a pass-key,
went up without disturbing the _concierge_. Arrived at home, my friend's
first act was to open his buffetier and take out a loaf, a _paté de foie
gras_, and a bottle of wine. I could not eat a morsel; but he supped (or
breakfasted) with a capital appetite; insisted that I should lie down on
his bed for two or three hours; and slipping into his dressing-gown,
took out his desk and cash-box, and settled himself to a regular
morning's work.
"I hope to get a nap myself before starting," said he. "I have not many
debts, and I made my will the day after I married--so I have but little
to transact in the way of business. A few letters to write--a few to
burn--a trifle or two to seal up and direct to one or two fellows who
may like a _souvenír_,--that is the extent of my task! Meanwhile, my
dear boy, get what rest you can. It will never do to be shaky and pale
on the field, you know."
I went, believing that I should be less in his way; and, lying down in
my clothes, fell into a heavy sleep, from which, after what seemed a
long time, I woke suddenly with the conviction that it was just ten
o'clock. To start up, look at my watch, find that it was only a quarter
to seven and fall profoundly asleep again, was the work of only a few
minutes. At the end of another half-hour I woke with the same dread, and
with the same result; and so on twice or thrice after, till at a
quarter to nine I jumped up, plunged my head into a basin of cold water,
and went back to the sitting-room.
I found him lying forward upon the table, fast asleep, with his head
resting on his hands. Some half-dozen letters lay folded and addressed
beside him--one directed to his wife. A little pile of burnt paper
fluttered on the hearth. His pistols were lying close by in their
mahogany case, the blue and white steel relieved against the
crimson-velvet lining. He slept so soundly, poor fellow, that I could
with difficulty make up my mind to wake him. Once roused, however, he
was alert and ready in a moment, changed his coat, took out a new pair
of lavender gloves, hailed a cab from the window, and bade the driver
name his own fare if he got us to the terrace at Bellevue by five
minutes before ten.
"I always like to be before my time in a matter of this kind, Damon,"
said he. "It's shabby to be merely punctual when one has, perhaps, not
more than a quarter of an hour to live. By-the-by, here are my keys.
Take them, in case of accident. You will find a copy of my will in my
desk---the original is with my lawyer. The letters you will forward,
according to the addresses; and in my cash-box you will find a paper
directed to yourself."
I bent my head. I would not trust myself to speak. "As for the letter to
Hélène--to my wife," he said, turning his face away, "will you--will you
deliver that with your own hands?"
"I will."
"I--I have had but little time to write it," he faltered, "and I trust
to you to supply the details. Tell her how I made the quarrel, and how
it ended. No one suspects it to be other than a _fracas_ over a game at
_écarté_. No one supposes that I had any other motive, or any deeper
vengeance--not even De Caylus! I have not compromised her by word or
deed. If I shoot him, I free her without a breath of scandal. If
I fall--"
His voice failed, and we were both silent for some moments
We were now past the Barrier, and speeding on rapidly towards the open
country. High white houses with jalousies closed against the sun, and
pretty maisonnettes in formal gardens, succeeded the streets and shops
of suburban Paris. Then came a long country road bordered by
poplars--by-and-by, glimpses of the Seine, and scattered farms and
villages far away--then Sèvres and the leafy heights of Bellevue
overhanging the river.
We crossed the bridge, and the driver, mindful of his fare, urged on his
tired horse. Some country folks met us presently, and a wagoner with a
load of fresh hay. They all smiled and gave us "good-day" as we
passed--they going to their work in the fields, and we to our work of
bloodshed!
Shortly after this, the road began winding upwards, past the porcelain
factories and through the village of Sèvres; after which, having but a
short distance of very steep road to climb, we desired the cabman to
wait, and went up on foot. Arrived at the top, where a peep of blue
daylight came streaming down upon us through a green tunnel of acacias,
we emerged all at once upon the terrace, and found ourselves first on
the field. Behind us rose a hillside of woods--before us, glassy and
glittering, as if traced upon the transparent air, lay the city of
palaces. Domes and spires, arches and columns of triumph, softened by
distance, looked as if built of the sunshine. Far away on one side
stretched the Bois de Boulogne, undulating like a sea of tender green.
Still farther away on the other, lay Père-la-Chaise--a dark hill specked
with white; cypresses and tombs. At our feet, winding round a "lawny
islet" and through a valley luxuriant in corn-fields and meadows, flowed
the broad river, bluer than the sky.
"A fine sight, Damon!" said Dalrymple, leaning on the parapet, and
coolly lighting a cigar. "If my eyes are never to open on the day again,
I am glad they should have rested for the last time on a scene of so
much beauty! Where is the painter who could paint it? Not Claude
himself, though he should come back to life on purpose, and mix his
colors with liquid sunlight!"
"You are a queer fellow," said I, "to talk of scenery and painters at
such a moment!"
"Not at all. Things are precious according to the tenure by which we
hold them. For my part, I do not know when I appreciated earth and sky
so heartily as this morning. _Tiens!_ here comes a carriage--our men,
no doubt."
"Are you a good shot?" I asked anxiously.
"Pretty well. I can write my initials in bullet-holes on a sheet of
notepaper at forty paces, or toss up half-a-crown as I ride at full
gallop, and let the daylight through it as it comes down."
"Thank Heaven!"
"Not so fast, my boy. De Caylus is just as fine a shot, and one of the
most skilful swordsmen in the French service."
"Ay, but the first fire is yours!"
"Is it? Well, I suppose it is. He struck the first blow, and so--here
they come."
"One more word, Dalrymple--did he really cheat you at _écarté?_"
"Upon my soul, I don't know. He did hold the king very often, and there
are some queer stories told of him in Vienna by the officers of the
Emperor's Guard. At all events, this is not the first duel he has had to
fight in defence of his good-fortune!"
De Simoncourt now coming forward, we adjourned at once to the wood
behind the village. A little open glade was soon found; the ground was
soon measured; the pistols were soon loaded. De Caylus looked horribly
pale, but it was the pallor of concentrated rage, with nothing of the
craven hue in it. Dalrymple, on the contrary, had neither more nor less
color than usual, and puffed away at his cigar with as much indifference
as if he were waiting his turn at the pit of the Comédie Française. Both
were clothed in black from head to foot, with their coats buttoned
to the chin.
"All is ready," said De Simoncourt. "Gentlemen, choose your weapons."
De Caylus took his pistols one by one, weighed and poised them,
examined the priming, and finally, after much hesitation, decided.
Dalrymple took the first that came to hand.
The combatants then took their places--De Caylus with his hat pulled low
over his eyes; Dalrymple still smoking carelessly.
They exchanged bows.
"Major Dalrymple," said De Simoncourt, "it is for you to fire first."
"God bless you, Damon!" said my friend, shaking me warmly by the hand.
He then half turned aside, flung away the end of his cigar, lifted his
right arm suddenly, and fired.
I heard the dull thud of the ball--I saw De Caylus fling up his arms and
fall forward on the grass. I saw Dalrymple running to his assistance.
The next instant, however, the wounded man was on his knees, ghastly and
bleeding, and crying for his pistol.
"Give it me!" he gasped--"hold me up! I--I will have his life yet! So,
steady--steady!"
Shuddering, but not for his own danger, Dalrymple stepped calmly back to
his place; while De Caylus, supported by his second, struggled to his
feet and grasped his weapon. For a moment he once more stood upright.
His eye burned; his lips contracted; he seemed to gather up all his
strength for one last effort. Slowly, steadily, surely, he raised his
pistol--then swaying heavily back, fired, and fell again.
"Dead this time, sure enough," said De Simoncourt, bending over him.
"Indeed, I fear so," replied Dalrymple, in a low, grave voice. "Can we
do nothing to help you, Monsieur de Simoncourt?"
"Nothing, thank you. I have a carriage down the road, and must get
further assistance from the village. You had better lose no time in
leaving Paris."
"I suppose not. Good-morning."
"Good-morning,"
So we lifted our hats; gathered up the pistols; hurried out of the wood
and across a field, so avoiding the village; found our cab waiting where
we had left it; and in less than five minutes, were rattling down the
dusty hill again and hurrying towards Paris.
Once in the cab, Dalrymple began hastily pulling off his coat and
waistcoat. I was startled to see his shirt-front stained with blood.
"Heavens!" I exclaimed, "you are not wounded?"
"Very slightly. De Caylus was too good a shot to miss me altogether.
Pshaw! 'tis nothing--a mere graze--not even the bullet left in it!"
"If it had been a little more to the left...." I faltered.
"If he had fired one second sooner, or lived one second longer, he would
have had me through the heart, as sure as there's a heaven above us!"
said Dalrymple.
Then, suddenly changing his tone, he added, laughingly--
"Nonsense, Damon! cheer up, and help me to tear this handkerchief into
bandages. Now's the time to show off your surgery, my little Æsculapius.
By Jupiter, life's a capital thing, after all!"
* * * * *