"But the best scene is to come yet," said Marcel, as he hurried away.
"It will close the play."
The curtain soon fell on the last act and the distressed maiden and the
gallant knight who had rescued her, drawn sword yet in hand, had been
united forever amid the applause of all. This I supposed was the best
scene, though I could not see why Marcel should say so, and I was about
to leave, when he reappeared again and seemed to be in great haste.
"Come this way, Bob!" he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. "If you
go in that direction, you will lose yourself among the scenes and stage
trappings."
I let him lead me as he wished, and in a few moments we came out, not
into the street as I had expected, but in an open space at the rear of
the theatre, where the moonlight was shining upon five men who were
standing there. They were Vivian, Catron, Moore, Harding, and two others
in plain dress who looked like surgeons. Marcel put a sword in my hand.
"This is to be that last, the best scene, of which I told you," he said
gleefully.
At that moment Belfort appeared escorted by Moore. Belfort still held in
his hand the sword that he had carried on the stage.
There was no time for either of us to take thought; perhaps we would not
have taken it if there had been. The love-making scenes of the play were
fresh in my memory, and as for Belfort he hated me with sincerity and
persistency. We faced each other, sword in hand.
"Isn't it glorious?" I heard Marcel say behind me. "Moore and I arranged
it. Could we have conceived of a prettier situation? And as the
finishing act, the last perfect touch to the play!"
Belfort's eye was upon mine, and it was full of malice. He seemed glad
that this opportunity had come. I was only a fair swordsman, but I was
cool and felt confident. We raised our swords and the blades clashed
together.
But the duel was not destined to be. The fine erection of circumstance
which Marcel and Moore--fit spirits well matched--had raised with so
much care and of which they were so proud, crumbled at a stroke to the
ground.
Mary Desmond, still in her costume of the play, but changed from the
distressed maiden to an indignant goddess, rushed amongst us.
"For shame!" she cried. "How dare you fight when Sir William Howe has
forbidden this duel! Are you so eager to kill each other that you must
slip from a stage at midnight to do it?"
I have always remembered the look of comic dismay on the faces of Marcel
and Moore at this unhappy interference with their plans, but Marcel
spoke up promptly.
"So far as time and place are concerned, Miss Desmond," he said,
"Lieutenant Melville and Lieutenant Belfort are not to blame. Moore and
I arranged it." (Moore bowed in assent.)
She paid no attention to them, but reminded Belfort and me of our
obligations to obey the orders of the commander-in-chief. She looked
very beautiful in her indignation, the high color rising in her cheeks,
and, even with a fear of the charge that I dreaded the combat, I was
inclined to promise her that I would not fight Lieutenant Belfort.
"Lieutenant Melville, will you not escort me back to the dressing-room
in the theatre?" she asked suddenly of me.
I bowed, handed my sword to Marcel, and went with her, happy that she
had chosen me, though hardly knowing why.
"I have no wish to hurt Lieutenant Belfort, and certainly none to be
hurt by him," I said, as we passed between stage scenery. "If it grieves
you to think that perchance he should be wounded by me, I will not fight
him at all."
Perhaps I was not wholly sincere in that, but I said it.
"I saw him to-night in the play," I continued, "and he was most earnest
and successful."
"But it was a play, and a play only. Do not forget that," she said, and
was gone.
When I returned to the court, I found no one there, save Waters, who had
helped that night in moving the scenery.
"You are disappointed, Lieutenant Melville," he said, leering at me with
his cunning eyes. "You cannot have your duel. I came up just as you left
with Miss Desmond; there was an alarm that the provost guard was at
hand, and they all ran away, carrying Lieutenant Belfort with them. It
may have been part of Miss Desmond's plan."
I did not even thank the man for his information, so much did I resent
his familiarity, and I resented, too, the fear which I felt of him and
which I could not dismiss despite myself. I went to my room, and found
Marcel waiting for me.
"We have concluded to abandon the duel, Bob," he said. "Fate is
apparently against it. But 'tis a great pity that 'tis so. The finest
situation that I ever knew spoiled when it seemed to be most successful.
But don't think, Bob, that I wanted the life of you, my best friend, put
in risk merely for sport. Since I could not get the chance, I hoped
that you would give the insolent fellow some punishment, and I can tell
you in confidence, too, that Moore and the others had the same wish."
I needed no apology from Marcel, as I knew that if necessary he would go
through fire for me; and I told him so.