A well-known establishment in a suburb of Paris, in the early part
of last century, was the fencing-school of old Pierre Dupré, _maître
d'armes_ and retired Major in the French army. Old Pierre was growing
somewhat old for the personal exercise of his art, but he could still
superintend the practice of his pupils, who fenced with his assistants,
and give such advice as they could receive from no other swordsman in
all Paris.
Of assistants he had four, one a fine young fellow named Karl Havet, the
second an equally excellent exponent of the beautiful art he taught,
one Georges Maux. The other two helpers were, strange to say, females,
strapping fine girls, both, and splendid swordswomen, old Pierre's
daughters.
How it befel that his girls had become such adepts in their father's
profession, and why, are matters easily explained.
It had been the greatest grief to the old man and a bitter grievance
against destiny when, at the birth of his first child, he learned that
he was the father of a girl. When the second and last child made its
appearance and proved, like its sister, to be of the wrong sex, he was
in despair. He had longed for a son to train in the use of arms which he
should wield in his country's honour.
"Bring them up as boys," some one suggested, "they are fine girls both
of them, and would make splendid boys."
From the moment that this idea took root in his mind, old Pierre found
consolation. He adopted the suggestion _in toto_. The girls, while still
young children, were dressed as boys, taught as boys, treated as boys,
and perhaps almost, though not quite, loved as boys. From the earliest
day upon which their little hands could hold and manipulate a rapier, he
taught them to fence, and now--at the age of nineteen and twenty--the
girls--Louise and Marie--could hold their own with almost any swordsman
in Paris.
Though no longer dressed in male attire, old Pierre's daughters still
wore garments as nearly allied to the fashion of those worn by men
as was consistent with propriety. The girls looked as like men as
handsome girls could look; they associated entirely with men, talked
and thought like men, were men to all practical purposes, excepting in
one particular: their women's hearts remained to them. One, Marie, was
engaged to marry young Karl Havet, to whom she was devotedly attached,
much to the chagrin of her father, who regretted Marie's "weakness" as
a sad falling away from the state of grace to which his daughter had
attained. To have been brought up as a man and to have reached the point
of perfection, or near it, in the most manly of all exercises, and then
to exhibit the weakness of a silly woman by falling in love--"Bah!"
said old Pierre, in speaking of it to his friends, "it is sad--it is
cruel--it is incredible!"
Nevertheless, the evil existed and must be recognised and put up with.
The pair were engaged and within a month they would marry.
As for the second daughter, Louise, her father's favourite, his pride
and joy--for not only was she a little taller, a little stronger, a
little more skilful with the rapier than her sister, but also possessed
the crowning glory, in his eyes, of a deep contralto speaking-voice,
which added a point to her score of manly virtues--Louise, too, though
Pierre guessed it not, had fallen a victim to the universal weakness of
womankind; she, too, had lost her heart to a man. Louise did not tell
her father this; she did not even tell Marie, her sister; it is probable
that she did not whisper it even to her own heart of hearts, and yet she
knew well that it was so: she was in love.
After all, it was no wonder that she should have become attracted by
one or other of the many handsome and manly youths who came either to
learn to fence or to practise the art, already learned, by engaging
in a set-to with one of Pierre's accomplished daughters. Louise was
acquainted with half a hundred of the most attractive young officers
in Paris. Nearly every one of Napoleon's marshals had visited Pierre's
establishment, nay, even the Emperor himself had been there and had
laughed and applauded the skill of the two _demoiselles d'armes_. He had
spoken to Louise and praised her to her face which was nearer the sky
than his own by four inches at least.
Yet never, until a certain afternoon in this very year of 1812, had
Louise been conscious of the quickening of her pulses in response to
the instincts of womanhood; for though assuredly there were many of
the gilded youths of her acquaintance who had wasted upon her the
eloquence of the eye, of the whispering lips, of the tightened hand--all
these things had left Louise as they found her, calm and unmoved, and
wondering, maybe, at the foolishness of men who could waste time upon
such silly matters as love-making and love-talking.
The fatal afternoon was that upon which young Baron Henri d'Estreville
first visited the fencing establishment in order to see for himself the
skill of the two girls with whose fame as swordswomen all Paris was
ringing.
The Baron was himself a first-class swordsman, but in fencing a bout
with Louise he distinctly had the worst of it, a fact which he was
himself the first to admit.
This was a good-looking youth, merry and debonair, an officer in a
Lancer regiment and the first cousin of one with whom we are already
acquainted, Vera Demidof. He spoke with Louise both before and after the
fencing match, and for some reason or another he took her fancy as no
other man had done. D'Estreville was no exception to the rule of young
men of his age. Louise was a woman, young and handsome, and of course
the Baron employed against her all the artillery he possessed. Louise
had thought this sort of thing only silly in others; but the whispered
words, the meaning looks, the pressure of the hand appeared very
charming when these measures were employed by her new friend.
The Baron said he would come again.
"You beat me handsomely to-day," he laughed, "but next time I intend to
turn the tables; ah, Mademoiselle, it was not the rapier that overthrew
me to-day, but the light of your eye, the beauty of your face----"
To his bosom friend and constant companion, Paul de Tourelle, the Baron
said, "You must come down to Pierre Dupré's fencing establishment and
see those girls of his fence. Also you should see Louise's eyes and
complexion--by all that's bewitching, they are splendid! You shall admit
it! As for her fencing----"
Young Paul de Tourelle laughed. "Yes, you shall take me to see them," he
said; "I am anxious to know whether their skill is really so great as
it is said to be by their admirers. As for her eyes and the rest of it,
that sort of thing is not likely to have much effect upon me just now,
for reasons well known to you."
"Poor Paul! nevertheless come and see; when a man is so hard hit as you
seem to be this time, to gaze upon something equally attractive may do
him good, just as a change of air is beneficial to a sick man."
"Equally attractive! beware what you say, my friend; such words savour
of disrespect towards--some one; there is no one equally attractive, and
cannot be; you speak of impossibilities."
"I retract the words," said the Baron, laughing; "we will say that here
is a personality displaying remarkable attractions, falling short,
however, of the highest. Joking apart, she is a splendid woman, strong
as a man, handsome as one of the Graces, and she fences--well--even the
great exponent Paul de Tourelle must look to his laurels if he measures
swords with her."
"_Âme de mon Épée!_ is it so?" exclaimed Paul, flushing; Paul was
acknowledged to be one of the finest, if not the very first swordsman in
France. "That is a thing which I cannot afford to have said of any man,
still less of any woman. I will come and see, my friend, and if she is
willing we will try a bout."
"She will be willing; fencing is the breath of life to her; but
seriously, if you fear that your reputation might suffer by defeat, you
must do your best, Paul; she is a supreme mistress of the art."
"Fear not; I will remember to be careful!" laughed the other.
When the Baron visited the establishment of old Pierre on the following
day he found the fair Louise somewhat inclined to avoid him, or at any
rate less disposed to play the _bon camarade_ than on the previous
occasion. This attitude was the direct result of a conversation between
old Pierre and his daughter Marie.
"I am no longer the black sheep, _mon père_," said Marie, laughing.
"This day Louise has also shown that she is a woman."
"What mean you?" asked the old man, looking up startled from his
occupation.
"Hitherto Louise has been with our visitors as a man among men; this
day, in the presence of Monsieur le Baron, she has behaved as a woman in
the presence of the man who is her soul's affinity."
"I'll not believe it of her," said old Pierre angrily; "because _you_
have been a fool, Marie, and proved yourself no wiser than other silly
women, you would have me believe that Louise can be equally foolish. I
will speak to Louise; she shall belie your accusation."
Louise did belie it, but with blushing and much confusion. Possibly her
father's words were the first intimation to her heart that it was no
longer fancy-free.
The conversation left her very thoughtful, however, and very silent;
and when the Baron arrived with De Tourelle and other friends on the
following day, he found her--as has been said--somewhat inclined to give
him the cold shoulder.