CHAPTERCXXVIII.THE HOSTILE MEETING—A DUEL TO THE DEATH.It was pretty plainly demonstrated in our last chapter that the interview between the rivals was working up to a climax, and, to say the truth, it could not possibly be otherwise, unless Lord Ethalwood had agreed to a compromise, by declaring his intention of espousing Theresa Trieste.This declaration would have at once disarmed Chanet, who had only the interest of his affianced at heart, but it was not to be.The earl, when he fell in love with the French maiden, forgot the promise made to his ancestor—a promise he held sacred beyond all else.“So,” exclaimed Chanet, “you have chosen to dishonour me by a vile and cowardly blow; but it is, perhaps, just as well, for it must end in the death of one of us.”“Indeed, sir! pray explain yourself.”“I demand satisfaction,” cried the mountaineer.“The Ethalwoods have been accustomed to fight with their equals.”“Do you refuse then? Are you so base?”“I do not refuse—I am at your disposal. I have brought this upon myself—that I freely admit.”The young earl bitterly regretted his rash act. Not that he was indisposed to any hostile meeting, but he felt both shame and remorse at the action which rage had driven him to commit.An action which he recognised as being one of odious and unjustifiable brutality. But pride, which was at the bottom of the nature of every member of the race to which he belonged, forbade him from temporising with his adversary.No.67.Illustration: DEATH OF GEROME CHANETTHE DUEL—DEATH OF GEROME CHANET.“You demand satisfaction, Monsieur Chanet—so be it. Name your conditions. I will agree to anything you propose.”“I suppose by that you mean to confer a favour.”“Nothing of the sort. It is but justice. You are the offended party.”“I am, in more ways than one.”“Admitted; we will not discuss that question. You feel yourself aggrieved or injured, which you will.”“Deeply injured.”“That is understood. What do you desire, then?”“The conditions I propose will be very simple, and will be as fair to you as they are to me.”“It is simply a question of appointing seconds.”“We do not want any.”“Absurd! A duel without seconds! It is not to be thought of for a moment.”“I hope I am dealing with an honourable gentleman.”“I am sure you are—that’s better.”“Well, then, we can trust each other.”“We can do so, of course, but it is not the usual course of procedure; and I strongly object to a hostile meeting under such circumstances.”“But I understood you to say that you were willing to accede to any terms I chose to propose.”“Any reasonable terms. I do not want you to be charged with murder, or myself either, which most assuredly we, one of us, should be, unless we had seconds. Custom dictates that this should be done.”“What do I care for custom, or what I may be charged with?”“That may be so; but the case is very different as far as I am concerned. I must have some regard for my own reputation, and, therefore, decline to meet you upon the conditions you propose.”“Would you have me brand you as a coward?”“I must again inform you, Monsieur Chanet, that you would do well by being more guarded in your expressions. As a matter of courtesy I waive all distinctions, and am willing to give you the satisfaction you require, provided the arrangements are in accordance with the recognised rules which are invariably adopted in such cases. Do not for a moment imagine I have any desire to shrink from the performance of what, after all, must be deemed only an act of justice.”“When a duel takes place between two Corsicans,” said Chanet, “each of the adversaries places himself at the opposite end of a newly-dug pit, and whenever one of them falls rolls into this grave dug by himself. Doubtless, you know, that in obedience to a physical law—which I will not attempt to explain—a man struck by a bullet in the front of the head or chest falls face forward.”“Very likely. I will not dispute your theory, but I am not a Corsican; neither are you, I presume.”“No, I am not.”“Well, then, this being so, we are governed by the rules adopted by our own countrymen, and therefore is it that I insist upon having seconds.”“I do not wish my dear Theresa to be compromised, and I would, therefore, prefer dispensing with witnesses; but if you insist——”“I do insist. So there ends the matter.”“You shall have your own way then. You bring a second, and I will do the same. Will that satisfy you?”“Certainly; and now please to name the time and the place.”“The place must be where you struck me; on that spot must the battle be fought, and one of us must not leave the ground alive.”“Agreed, let that be understood. Now the weapons.”“Six-chambered revolvers—have you one?”“Yes.”“So have I. We will charge all barrels. If the first shot produces no effect we will fire till one of us falls dead.”“This may be all very well, but it does not accord with the practice of civilised communities,” said the earl, carelessly. “It seems to me more like deliberate murder than anything else.”“It is not murder. It is a duel to the death—that is all.”“Oh, I see, a mere trifle, of course, in your estimation, perhaps. Have a care, young man—be not so relentless.”“The injury I have received from your hands admits of no atonement. I am resolved,” replied Chanet.“Well, if that be the case, I will not offer any opposition. Now about the hour?”“At six o’clock to-morrow evening—will that suit you?”“I am master of my own time—say six then.”“You will keep your word?”“There is no fear of that. I will be on the spot at that time with my second, if I can procure one.”“If? Do you doubt being able to do so?”“No! I believe there will not be much difficulty as far as that is concerned, and so our conference is at an end, monsieur.”The earl bowed, turned on his heel, and took his departure.“Agatha was quite right,” he ejaculated, when far removed from the spot where the strange interview had taken place. “He’s a desperate, determined fellow, and means to send me to the next world if he possibly can; but there is no help for it now, I cannot retract: even if I were disposed to do so the chances are that I should be waylaid and murdered. I must meet this young ruffian and trust in Providence. I wish now I had not consented to have an interview with him, but one can never foresee these things until it is too late. Hang the fellow, what is the value of his life in comparison to mine?”Hurrying on with rapid steps he soon came within sight of Madame Trieste’s chateau.He paused, and endeavoured to assume as calm a demeanour as possible; but, despite his fortitude, he was greatly troubled at the issue of affairs.He began to consider seriously whether the fascinating and beauteous Theresa was worth the sanguinary encounter which had been appointed to take place on the morrow.Taking a common-sense view of the question, the conclusion would be that she was not, but hot-headed lovers have generally but a small modicum of common sense left in their whole composition, and such appeared to be the case with Lord Ethalwood, who had, in a great measure, brought himself into his present difficulty.As to Chanet, he was so wild and furious that it was not possible for him to be brought under the influence of reason.Upon entering the house of his hostess, Lord Ethalwood put a bold face on the matter, and succeded in being as cheerful and pleasant as heretofore, but, despite this, an air of melancholy seemed to hover over the little household.Theresa said but little. She, however, ever and anon cast inquiring looks at the earl, who at such times whispered words of comfort in her ear.It was not possible for him to determine whether any of them suspected that he had seen Gerome Chanet. If they did they were remarkably silent on the subject, and never in any way alluded to the young mountaineer.When he retired to his chamber Madame Trieste bade him farewell as if he had been a traveller setting forth upon a journey from which he would in all probability never return. She kissed him affectionately on the forehead, and was more than usually demonstrative in her expressions of friendship.Theresa had at this time betaken herself to her own apartment.The earl was a little puzzled at the widow’s altered demeanour, but he said nothing beyond responding to the good wishes she expressed.He was, as may be readily imagined, in no very enviable frame of mind, and on reaching his chamber he looked at his watch, and found that the night had not passed away.He opened the window of his sleeping chamber, and looked out at the sky. The thought crossed his mind that possibly it might be the last night he had to pass in this world, and this was not a very agreeable reflection.How different was the aspect of the sky on which his eyes now rested!And oh, how different the circumstances! Instead of being lit by myriads of stars, the heavens were as sombre as his own thoughts. Nature seemed, as it were, shrouding itself in a mantle of darkness.In spite of himself he fell into a reverie, and his reflections were tinged with a melancholy which he could not shake off.What course could he adopt?He deemed it expedient to sally forth in the morning and consult the chevalier whom he proposed to appoint his second.He was a brave, gallant old gentleman, and as courteous as he was brave.No one was better qualified to act in such a capacity, and he felt perfectly well assured that he could count upon his services on such an occasion.The more he pondered the more convinced he was that there was now no possibility of retreating from the position in which he had been placed by the force of circumstances, conjointly, it must be admitted, with his own rashness and imprudence.He felt that the position was a false one, and the fatal words, “it is too late,” fell from his lips again and again, and he could only resolve to drain the bitter cup which he had madly filled for himself.He sat for an hour or two ruminating on the aspect of affairs, but the more he reflected the more distressed did he feel, until at length, worn out with bitter thoughts, he threw himself on his couch and sank into a fitful slumber.On the following morning, immediately after his morning meal, he sallied forth and hastened at once to the house of the gentleman where the chevalier had taken up his quarters.The man servant who admitted him said that the chevalier had not risen, but he would inform him of the earl’s presence, and in the course of a few minutes after this he was shown into an elegantly furnished bijou apartment, in which his friend was seated, sipping a cup of fragrant mocha. He professed to be overjoyed at seeing the earl, to whom he apologised for having kept waiting.The old Frenchman looked jaded and worn, but he soon pulled himself together, and was as cheerful and vivacious as heretofore.Lord Ethalwood was of course more than usually grave and thoughtful.“It is a matter of business I have come upon, monsieur,” said he. “Indeed, I may say it is rather a serious business.”“Ah, my worthy friend!” exclaimed the old Frenchman. “A little escapade, I suppose. Well, you may command both my advice and services. I need hardly intimate that.”“I am perfectly well assured you will do your best to serve me,” returned the earl. “First and foremost let me put you in possession of all the facts connected with the case.”The Frenchman bowed, and his companion proceeded. He gave him an unvarnished narrative of the events which led up to the proposed hostile meeting.“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed the chevalier. “Risk your life in a duel with a low-born peasant, that’s not discreet. Bah! It’s madness. Positive madness.”“It can’t be helped—I must give him satisfaction, I have pledged my word, and my honour is at stake,” observed Ethalwood.“You ought to have seen me before undertaking such a foolhardy enterprise. What, fight with a ruffian of that type! Bah, it’s monstrous.”“It is very indiscreet, I admit, but as I before observed, I cannot refuse now, and therefore have come hither to ask you to be my second.”“Oh, oui, certainly; if you are determined to carry out your promise given to this low-bred hound, well, I am at your service.”“I am determined. So don’t upbraid me for my rashness and folly. Promise to be ready at the appointed time.”“The fellow is half a savage, and would not scruple to murder you if he had a chance of doing so.”“I do not think that. No, monsieur, he is not without honour.”“Bah! Don’t you mislead yourself supposing anything of the sort. You don’t know what sort of a man you have to deal with. A duel with such a person—well, I won’t say any more, but the whole affair appears to me altogether incomprehensible.”“Why so?”“How? Why that you should have suffered yourself to fall into such a trap. But you must bring your man down. Now you are in the scrape you must get out of it in the best way possible.”“Then you agree to accompany me, and see fair play?”“I should not be worthy the name I bear if I refused,” cried the chevalier, with a flourish of his right hand, and a significant nod. “Oh, yes, you may rely upon my services in this business—in this unfortunate business. But, my dear young friend, I will not attempt to conceal from you that I am greatly concerned at the course of events—greatly concerned.”“I am not very well pleased myself, to speak the truth, but this is between ourselves.”“We must make the best of a bad job. You are a good shot, that’s one thing in your favour—an excellent shot.”“So is he, I should imagine.”“With a rifle,” observed the chevalier, carelessly.“And with a pistol as well, I presume.”“These fellows as a rule are not so good at handling a pistol as a gun. Oh, you’ll wing your man, I dare say. Sacre! You must do so; and by gar, you shall.”Ethalwood laughed, and said: “You speak in a confident tone.”“And mean it,” cried the old Frenchman. “And now about the place of meeting and the hour?”“The hour is six o’clock this evening; the place is on the skirts of the forest. I will show you where it is, for we had better go together.”“By all means. We can drive over in my post-chaise.”“That might attract attention. Better walk.”“No, we will drive there. Never mind about attracting attention. I don’t care about walking. Let us drive there.”“But we must not have an attendant.”“Well, so be it. I will drive myself. We don’t require a coachman. We will go by ourselves. Will you call here for me, or shall I call for you?”“I had better call here.”“As you please. Let that be understood then. Six o’clock in the evening, eh? It ought to be in the morning, that is the usual course.”“It ought, but the time is named and agreed upon. It is to be this evening at the hour I have named.”“Bah, it does not much matter whether a man is sent out of the world in the evening or the morning for the matter of that.”“I have passed my word.”“Certainly. Now you will find some fine old cognac by your side there. Just help yourself to a glass. It will steady your nerves.”“No, I thank you, I will not take anything just now.”“But you must—I insist, just one glass. You are now in my hands, and must do as I tell you. This is not the first affair of honour I have been engaged in by a good many, and I may say that I have been singularly fortunate bringing my men through. Before we start this evening you will have to take another glass of brandy with a few drops of laudanum in it. It will wind you up like a clock, and you will be able to see through a brick wall. That is my specific for duellists. It’s the finest thing to take under the circumstances.”“But I don’t require any stimulant.”“No matter whether you require it or not, I intend to have my own way, and you have but to passively submit to my dictation. Leave all to me, I am an old soldier, and know pretty well what is requisite in such cases. My dear young friend, valour is one quality, and a very important element it is, but experience is another. Be of good cheer, for although I say it myself you are in good hands.”“I am perfectly well assured of that,” returned the earl, “and esteem myself fortunate in having the assistance and services of so valuable an ally as yourself.”“I am not likely to allow this headstrong young man to ride roughshod over you. Act according to my instructions, and it will go hard with us if you don’t polish off your man. I intend you to do so, and that is sufficient for our purpose.”The chevalier Gustave de Monpres was on this occasion, as he had been in many similar cases, determined to have his own way. To say the truth the earl could not possibly have enlisted the services of any one better adapted to befriend him than the chevalier.He was duly impressed with this fact, and felicitated himself upon having applied to him on this trying occasion.After some further conversation he took leave of his friend, with the understanding that he was to call for him on his way to the fatal spot.Lord Reginald Ethalwood returned to the widow’s house, where he dined, and strove as best he could to assume an air of cheerfulness, which, to say the truth, he was far from feeling. The day wore on, not very brightly, it is true, but it passed over, nevertheless. On consulting his watch, the earl found that the appointed hour was fast approaching.Unobserved by any of the inmates of Madame Trieste’s chateau he passed through the garden gate and sallied forth, and at once bent his steps in the direction of the house in which his friend the chevalier was anxiously awaiting him.He was much pleased at being able to leave the widow’s residence without attracting the notice of any one, as he thought, but he had reckoned without his host. His movements had been watched; and he had not got more than a hundred and fifty yards or so from the chateau when he became aware that someone was behind him. His attention was attracted by footsteps. He stopped to listen, and then the sound ceased.“I am full of idle fancies. No wonder,” he ejaculated, and once more he continued on his way.But again the sound fell upon his ear. It was at this time nearer and more distinct.“Umph, I was not mistaken after all,” he murmured. Upon turning round and looking behind him he observed a female which, much to his surprise, he found to be Theresa Trieste.“You here, darling?” he ejaculated. “Whither are you bound for?”“It is not a question of whither I am bound for,” returned the French maiden. “That is of no import. Where are you going, my lord?”“Where am I going, Theresa?”“Yes, where?”“Well, if you must know, I am about to pay a visit to my friend, Monsieur de Monpres.”“Don’t think to deceive me by such a shallow pretext,” cried Theresa.“Deceive you, my sweet pet, it is not at all likely I should attempt to do so.”“I wish I could bring myself to believe what you say is true.”“But it is true. There, see I pledge my most solemn word it is. What more can you desire? Why, my dear girl, you are trembling like an aspen leaf shaken by the winter’s blast.”“Oh, my lord, there is something afoot which you are keeping from me—I feel assured there is. A boy brought you a letter yesterday—who was it from?”“Who? What matters? It was a private matter. I will tell you all about it when I return.”“Tell me who sent that letter, and tell me also what business takes you from our home this evening.”“I have already told you I am about to pay a visit to the chevalier.”“Nothing else?”“Well, I cannot tell what our movements may be. I am going direct to him now; that’s all I am able to say at present.”“Come back with me, and go to the chevalier to-morrow evening instead.”“It may not be. I have passed my word.”“Passed your word?”“Yes!”“To meet Gerome Chanet. Is it not so?”Lord Ethalwood started back in surprise.“What could possibly have put that in your head?” he ejaculated.“It matters not how it came into my head. I feel too well assured that such is the case. Oh, my lord, avoid that man; have naught to say to him, and, above all, do not give him a meeting.”“I will bear in mind what you have said. I like him not; but at the same time, my dear Theresa, you must permit me to be master of my own actions.”“I saw a boy deliver a letter to you yesterday at the garden gate. I judged who it was from—Gerome Chanet—and judged also its purport. He would speak to you. Is that not so?”“Assuming it is, what of that? I am not afraid of Gerome Chanet.”“I am sure you are not, but tell me where he is waiting for you?”“Waiting! What idle fancy is this? Have I not already told you that I am going to see the chevalier? What more do you require?”“You shall not go to meet Chanet! I say you shall not!” she cried, vehemently.“Who will prevent me if I am so disposed?”“I will.”“You will! Why, my dear Theresa, surely you do not mean me to understand that I am to act under the control of you. By what right do you assume this position?”“By what? By the right of my love—my love for you, wild, hopeless as it is—my love that hangs upon your life, though it may be as the drowning wretch who clings to a spar that will but lengthen his torment and desert him at last.”“I am not complimented by the simile. It is not at all likely that I should desert you. Be reasonable, dearest. I have an appointment, and as a gentleman and a man of honour I must keep it.”While this conversation had been taking place both the earl and Theresa had walked side by side, not very rapidly, it is true, but nevertheless, every step they took brought them nearer to the house in which the chevalier was located.Theresa Trieste saw plainly enough that the earl was not to be turned from his purpose; entreaties and arguments were alike in vain—so she continued to walk by his side, in the hope of discovering if her suspicions were correct.He on his part did not appear at all disinclined to have her as a companion, and this threw her a little off her guard.When she accosted him at first she was under the impression that he was going direct to some appointed spot to meet Chanet.She had no idea, however, that it was for the purpose of fighting a duel with the young mountaineer, but she dreaded a meeting under any circumstances, and had striven hard to prevail upon her aristocratic lover to return to her mother’s residence.“You seem very suspicious, Theresa,” said the earl, in a tone of banter. “I don’t know what I have done to give rise to this feeling. However, we are now more than half-way towards the residence where the chevalier is at present sojourning. You will be satisfied, I suppose, if you see me there—see me enter the house.”“Oh, I am satisfied that you are going there, if that is what you mean,” she returned. “Monsieur de Monpres is a stranger to me, and it would not be seemly for me to be introduced to him under the present circumstances. Perhaps I had better turn back, and make the best of my way home.”“As you please, Be of good cheer, my darling,” exclaimed the earl. “I will return as soon as possible. Let me have a little license to night, and then we will pass a happy hour or so before bedtime. Come, Theresa, do not be so downcast.” He placed his arms round her shoulders and gave her a long embrace.“Oh, my lord, this love of mine will be fatal to one or both of us,” she ejaculated. “But of what avail is it to repine? I do love you so.”“I feel assured of that, Theresa; and so I must leave you to a lonely walk home.”“Return as soon as possible.”“I will—I promise that.”And so the two parted.Lord Ethalwood walked on with accelerated speed. He looked once more at his watch, and found there was ample time for him to be at the place of appointment.Nevertheless, he was anxious and troubled. Most men are under similar circumstances.He found upon his arrival the Chevalier de Monpres, dressed in his uniform, looking like an officer in the Old Guard.“I am glad you have come thus early. Nothing like taking time by the forelock,” cried De Monpres, in high glee, for he made it a rule to be in the best of spirits and assume an air of confidence in all cases of this sort. “Why, mon Dieu, are you mad?” exclaimed the old Frenchman, glaring at his visitor.“Mad, no! What’s amiss, then?”“Amiss! Goodness me, you are never going to face your man in that costume?”“Why not?”“What—in a white waistcoat! It’s not to be thought of for a moment. The act of a lunatic, mon ami—a wild lunatic!”“I do not understand you.”“What, a white waistcoat. Why, it’s offering a mark for your adversary. I won’t have it. Certain death if the fellow is anything of a shot.”“I never thought of that. I’ll button up my coat.”“I won’t permit you to wear a white waistcoat, not under any circumstances. Sacre, it’s ridiculous. Take it off and wear one of mine. It won’t fit you very well I dare say, but that’s a matter of secondary importance. Off with your waistcoat without further ado; and an open white shirt front! Here is a waistcoat which will button up to the throat—that’s the garment to fight a duel in.”Lord Ethalwood smiled, took off his waistcoat, and put on the one handed to him by the old officer.“There,” said the latter, “that’s better. Offer no mark to the enemy; and now, mark you, we must bring down our man at the first shot, if that be possible. We’ll manage it, I have made up my mind as to that, but let me see. Oh, yes, the brandy.”“I don’t want any.”“You will have to take it nevertheless.”De Monpres poured out a glass of cognac, into which he carefully let fall a few drops of laudanum.“That will steady your nerves—make you as bold and fearless as a lion. Top it off.”“Must I?”“Yes you must, and what is more, you shall.”Although the earl objected to such a course, he knew it was no use refusing; so he made a virtue of necessity, and swallowed the draught.“That will put new life into you,” cried the Frenchman; “and now the weapon. Have your brought it with you?”“Yes, here it is.”De Monpres made a minute inspection of the revolver, which was a six-shot one.“Yes, a good weapon,” said he; “very good. We shall have to load on the ground, that is the usual course adopted in affairs of this sort. The seconds load and the principals fire.”“How about time?” said Ethalwood.“We’ve loads of time. My postchaise is in the back yard, and can be driven off at a moment’s notice. Everything is prepared, and may you bring down your man at the first shot—it will save us a deal of trouble. By-the-way, don’t aim at the head—at the chest; that’s better. Mind, cover him well with your barrel before the word to fire is given, and stand as firm as a rock. Oh, we’ll polish the scoundrel off.”“You seem very confident, monsieur—I wish I was the same.”“You must be—you must be confident—it’s half the battle. Go in and win.”The loquacious Frenchman rattled on, cheering up his companion by an animated conversation during the whole of the journey. He never suffered Lord Ethalwood’s spirits to droop, and certainly he was in all things considered a most invaluable adviser and ally in a case of this sort. Without him the earl would have been quite lost.Upon arriving at the appointed place of meeting the earl and Monsieur de Monpres found Chanet and a young man awaiting them at the outskirts of the forest.“You are punctual,” said Gerome. “I expected you would be so.”“The Chevalier de Monpres,” returned the earl, introducing his friend. Chanet bowed and introduced the young man he had brought for a second as Monsieur Vasseralt. Then there was another exchange of courtesies and the chevalier and Vasseralt drew on one side and conversed in whispers; meanwhile the two principals stood silent and motionless.“We had better proceed to the glade in the forest without further hesitation,” observed the chevalier; “by standing here we may probably attract attention. Forward, gentlemen,” added he, as he led the way. The three other gentlemen followed.“Now, gentlemen, you had better take your positions.”“Perhaps we had better charge the weapons first,” suggested Vasseralt.“As you please, sir,” returned the chevalier, “it is not a matter of very great moment. We will charge them.”“The six barrels are to be loaded,” said Gerome, “and we are to keep on firing till one of us falls. That is the understanding.”“It is against all rules laid down in such cases,” observed the chevalier, “and it is a most murderous and un-Christianlike mode of procedure, but if it is an agreement, of course we must, I suppose, abide by it.”“It is an agreement. Ask your friend,” cried Gerome.“Let it be as Monsieur Chanet wishes; I offer no objection,” said the earl.“I enter my protest against such a course, but will do as you desire me. So be it—the six chambers have to be charged.”The seconds proceeded to carry out these instructions, after which the two principals were placed in position.De Monpres walked up to the side of the earl and handed him his pistol.“Be sure you stand firm and aim at his body—not at the head. You’ll bring down your man. That fellow has no idea of loading a pistol; in addition to which his powder is of the very worst description. You have every chance in your favour, and must come off victor.”Having delivered himself of this speech the chevalier withdrew.“Now, gentlemen,” said he, “it has been agreed upon that I am to give the signal for firing. It is this: one, two, three—fire! When the last of these words is uttered you discharge your weapons. How say you? Do you understand?”Both the belligerents answered in the affirmative.The chevalier glanced anxiously for a moment at his man; then he said in slow, deliberate voice—“One, two, three—fire!”Both weapons were discharged simultaneously. The earl was conscious of the fact that a bullet passed within an inch or two of his head.Gerome Chanet staggered for a moment, threw up his arms, and then fell forward on his face.“See to your man, Monsieur Vasseralt,” exclaimed the chevalier.Advancing quickly, and in an evident state of trepidation, the young Swiss bent over the prostrate form of his friend, whom he called by name but received no answer. He then turned him over and observed a dark stream of blood oozing from his chest. The ill-fated Chanet breathed one last sigh and expired.“He is dead! Gracious heaven, he is dead!” exclaimed the Swiss. “Come this way—for mercy’s sake come.”The chevalier walked deliberately forward and looked in the face of the dead man.“It is all over with him,” he ejaculated. “He has fallen at the first shot. Well, he brought it on himself, and he has paid the penalty.”“I wish I had not had any hand in this business,” said Vasseralt. “I do most bitterly regret ever giving my consent to act as second. It is the first time I have been engaged in such a capacity, and I will take good care it shall be the last. Can nothing be done for him?”“My good fellow, we cannot restore the dead to life,” return De Monpres. “If young men will be rash and hot-headed, and rush into affairs of this sort, they must abide the issue. Your friend is slain, but has died honourably—what more need be said?”“Oh, but it’s very terrible.”“Can I do anything to serve you?” said the courteous old Frenchman. “If so, command me.”“Inform his family of this dreadful tragedy.”“No, I cannot do that. It would not be in conformity with the usual course of events. It is your duty to apprise his friends of the manner of his death—not mine. Permit me as an old soldier to express my most unqualified satisfaction of your conduct throughout the whole of this painful affair, and so good night.”He offered his hand to Vasseralt, which the latter accepted, and then withdrew from the ground in company with Earl Ethalwood, who, now that it was all over, fairly broke down.“It is of no use your pulling a long face,” said de Monpres. “You have reason to be thankful, and I congratulate you. Didn’t I tell you how it would end? I knew you would put him to bed with the first shot, and my words were prophetic. Ah, mon ami, he meant mischief. A blood-thirsty scoundrel the world is well rid of! Come, here is the postchaise; let us drive off at once, before the affair gets wind. Jump in.”The earl obeyed mechanically, for he appeared to be in a perfect state of bewilderment. It was the first time he had slain a fellow-creature, and he upbraided himself for the part he had played in the dark and sanguinary crime. He could not conceal from himself that his adversary had been deeply wronged, that he had during their interview in the forest displayed a nobleness of purpose in regard to Theresa, which could not fail to command the respect of all right-minded persons. He was willing to make any sacrifice for the woman he loved, even to giving her up to his rival, if he could thereby have ensured her happiness. The earl pondered over all these circumstances, and acknowledged to himself that he had committed a great wrong.“It seems to me, my friend,” said the chevalier, “that you are letting this little affair disturb your equanimity. Why, Lord bless us, it is after all but an everyday occurrence. The fellow is better out of the world than in it. Cheer up—don’t look so cursedly miserable.”“I don’t feel very well satisfied with myself, I candidly confess,” murmured Ethalwood. “It has been a most unfortunate business.”“No such thing—not as far as you are concerned. On the contrary, it has, to my thinking, been most fortunate. You’ve got out of a scrape in a most satisfactory and I may say gallant manner. We’ll just have a bottle of sparkling hock and a choice cigar, and that will put you all right again.”“Ah, my dear de Monpres, I am afraid it will take a great deal more than that to efface from my mind the fearful incidents of to-night. I feel myself to be a guilty wretch, an assassin, and murderer.”“Mon Dieu, monsieur, you are talking in a wild, incoherent manner. Assassin and murderer—bah! Be reasonable if you please. Don’t talk in such a false and ridiculous strain. Come, here we are at our domicile. Jump out, and come in—ha, ha! and make your life happy. I won’t have you accuse yourself thus wrongfully. Murder—bah! it is ridiculous.”The chevalier rattled on in his accustomed vivacious and loquacious manner, endeavouring as best he could to reassure the earl, who was, however, despite his friend’s playful pleasantries, greatly troubled at the tragic event of the evening. He, however, strove to play up to the exuberant Frenchman, and upon entering the house he drained off in rapid succession several glasses of champagne. Under the influence of the sparkling wine he became greatly exhilarated, and was enabled to listen with something like satisfaction to the lively discourse of his companion, the chevalier.An hour or so passed away, and then the earl remembered the promise he had given to Theresa.Making the best excuse he could, he rose to take his departure, but De Monpres did not feel disposed to part with him, and pressed him to remain at the chateau for the remainder of the night.“You can return to the widow’s residence as early as you choose in the morning,” said the chevalier.“I am under a pledge to be back early to-night,” answered Ethalwood, “and I am quite sure you will excuse me.”“When a lady’s in the case all things must give place,” observed his companion, “and therefore I will let you have your own way—but I don’t care about your going alone, so with your permission I will drive you there, and see you safely housed. What say you?”Ethalwood hesitated for a brief period, and then said—“Perhaps you are right. All things considered it would, perhaps, be just as well for me to have a companion, and I cannot have a better one than yourself.”The postchaise was once more brought into requisition, and the chevalier drove his friend home—or rather to the widow’s abode, where he had taken up his quarters. When the vehicle arrived in front of the garden-gate, the earl alighted and begged the chevalier to enter the house that he might be introduced to the inmates.The chevalier, however, politely declined.“No,” said he, “not now. I will be introduced to Madame Trieste on some other occasion—this certainly cannot be considered a favourable one. No, my lord, I will leave you now, and hope to see you some time to-morrow. Be of good cheer, and do not let this little affair dash your spirits, and so farewell for the present.”The two gentlemen shook hands, and De Monpres drove off.
It was pretty plainly demonstrated in our last chapter that the interview between the rivals was working up to a climax, and, to say the truth, it could not possibly be otherwise, unless Lord Ethalwood had agreed to a compromise, by declaring his intention of espousing Theresa Trieste.
This declaration would have at once disarmed Chanet, who had only the interest of his affianced at heart, but it was not to be.
The earl, when he fell in love with the French maiden, forgot the promise made to his ancestor—a promise he held sacred beyond all else.
“So,” exclaimed Chanet, “you have chosen to dishonour me by a vile and cowardly blow; but it is, perhaps, just as well, for it must end in the death of one of us.”
“Indeed, sir! pray explain yourself.”
“I demand satisfaction,” cried the mountaineer.
“The Ethalwoods have been accustomed to fight with their equals.”
“Do you refuse then? Are you so base?”
“I do not refuse—I am at your disposal. I have brought this upon myself—that I freely admit.”
The young earl bitterly regretted his rash act. Not that he was indisposed to any hostile meeting, but he felt both shame and remorse at the action which rage had driven him to commit.
An action which he recognised as being one of odious and unjustifiable brutality. But pride, which was at the bottom of the nature of every member of the race to which he belonged, forbade him from temporising with his adversary.
No.67.
Illustration: DEATH OF GEROME CHANETTHE DUEL—DEATH OF GEROME CHANET.
THE DUEL—DEATH OF GEROME CHANET.
“You demand satisfaction, Monsieur Chanet—so be it. Name your conditions. I will agree to anything you propose.”
“I suppose by that you mean to confer a favour.”
“Nothing of the sort. It is but justice. You are the offended party.”
“I am, in more ways than one.”
“Admitted; we will not discuss that question. You feel yourself aggrieved or injured, which you will.”
“Deeply injured.”
“That is understood. What do you desire, then?”
“The conditions I propose will be very simple, and will be as fair to you as they are to me.”
“It is simply a question of appointing seconds.”
“We do not want any.”
“Absurd! A duel without seconds! It is not to be thought of for a moment.”
“I hope I am dealing with an honourable gentleman.”
“I am sure you are—that’s better.”
“Well, then, we can trust each other.”
“We can do so, of course, but it is not the usual course of procedure; and I strongly object to a hostile meeting under such circumstances.”
“But I understood you to say that you were willing to accede to any terms I chose to propose.”
“Any reasonable terms. I do not want you to be charged with murder, or myself either, which most assuredly we, one of us, should be, unless we had seconds. Custom dictates that this should be done.”
“What do I care for custom, or what I may be charged with?”
“That may be so; but the case is very different as far as I am concerned. I must have some regard for my own reputation, and, therefore, decline to meet you upon the conditions you propose.”
“Would you have me brand you as a coward?”
“I must again inform you, Monsieur Chanet, that you would do well by being more guarded in your expressions. As a matter of courtesy I waive all distinctions, and am willing to give you the satisfaction you require, provided the arrangements are in accordance with the recognised rules which are invariably adopted in such cases. Do not for a moment imagine I have any desire to shrink from the performance of what, after all, must be deemed only an act of justice.”
“When a duel takes place between two Corsicans,” said Chanet, “each of the adversaries places himself at the opposite end of a newly-dug pit, and whenever one of them falls rolls into this grave dug by himself. Doubtless, you know, that in obedience to a physical law—which I will not attempt to explain—a man struck by a bullet in the front of the head or chest falls face forward.”
“Very likely. I will not dispute your theory, but I am not a Corsican; neither are you, I presume.”
“No, I am not.”
“Well, then, this being so, we are governed by the rules adopted by our own countrymen, and therefore is it that I insist upon having seconds.”
“I do not wish my dear Theresa to be compromised, and I would, therefore, prefer dispensing with witnesses; but if you insist——”
“I do insist. So there ends the matter.”
“You shall have your own way then. You bring a second, and I will do the same. Will that satisfy you?”
“Certainly; and now please to name the time and the place.”
“The place must be where you struck me; on that spot must the battle be fought, and one of us must not leave the ground alive.”
“Agreed, let that be understood. Now the weapons.”
“Six-chambered revolvers—have you one?”
“Yes.”
“So have I. We will charge all barrels. If the first shot produces no effect we will fire till one of us falls dead.”
“This may be all very well, but it does not accord with the practice of civilised communities,” said the earl, carelessly. “It seems to me more like deliberate murder than anything else.”
“It is not murder. It is a duel to the death—that is all.”
“Oh, I see, a mere trifle, of course, in your estimation, perhaps. Have a care, young man—be not so relentless.”
“The injury I have received from your hands admits of no atonement. I am resolved,” replied Chanet.
“Well, if that be the case, I will not offer any opposition. Now about the hour?”
“At six o’clock to-morrow evening—will that suit you?”
“I am master of my own time—say six then.”
“You will keep your word?”
“There is no fear of that. I will be on the spot at that time with my second, if I can procure one.”
“If? Do you doubt being able to do so?”
“No! I believe there will not be much difficulty as far as that is concerned, and so our conference is at an end, monsieur.”
The earl bowed, turned on his heel, and took his departure.
“Agatha was quite right,” he ejaculated, when far removed from the spot where the strange interview had taken place. “He’s a desperate, determined fellow, and means to send me to the next world if he possibly can; but there is no help for it now, I cannot retract: even if I were disposed to do so the chances are that I should be waylaid and murdered. I must meet this young ruffian and trust in Providence. I wish now I had not consented to have an interview with him, but one can never foresee these things until it is too late. Hang the fellow, what is the value of his life in comparison to mine?”
Hurrying on with rapid steps he soon came within sight of Madame Trieste’s chateau.
He paused, and endeavoured to assume as calm a demeanour as possible; but, despite his fortitude, he was greatly troubled at the issue of affairs.
He began to consider seriously whether the fascinating and beauteous Theresa was worth the sanguinary encounter which had been appointed to take place on the morrow.
Taking a common-sense view of the question, the conclusion would be that she was not, but hot-headed lovers have generally but a small modicum of common sense left in their whole composition, and such appeared to be the case with Lord Ethalwood, who had, in a great measure, brought himself into his present difficulty.
As to Chanet, he was so wild and furious that it was not possible for him to be brought under the influence of reason.
Upon entering the house of his hostess, Lord Ethalwood put a bold face on the matter, and succeded in being as cheerful and pleasant as heretofore, but, despite this, an air of melancholy seemed to hover over the little household.
Theresa said but little. She, however, ever and anon cast inquiring looks at the earl, who at such times whispered words of comfort in her ear.
It was not possible for him to determine whether any of them suspected that he had seen Gerome Chanet. If they did they were remarkably silent on the subject, and never in any way alluded to the young mountaineer.
When he retired to his chamber Madame Trieste bade him farewell as if he had been a traveller setting forth upon a journey from which he would in all probability never return. She kissed him affectionately on the forehead, and was more than usually demonstrative in her expressions of friendship.
Theresa had at this time betaken herself to her own apartment.
The earl was a little puzzled at the widow’s altered demeanour, but he said nothing beyond responding to the good wishes she expressed.
He was, as may be readily imagined, in no very enviable frame of mind, and on reaching his chamber he looked at his watch, and found that the night had not passed away.
He opened the window of his sleeping chamber, and looked out at the sky. The thought crossed his mind that possibly it might be the last night he had to pass in this world, and this was not a very agreeable reflection.
How different was the aspect of the sky on which his eyes now rested!
And oh, how different the circumstances! Instead of being lit by myriads of stars, the heavens were as sombre as his own thoughts. Nature seemed, as it were, shrouding itself in a mantle of darkness.
In spite of himself he fell into a reverie, and his reflections were tinged with a melancholy which he could not shake off.
What course could he adopt?
He deemed it expedient to sally forth in the morning and consult the chevalier whom he proposed to appoint his second.
He was a brave, gallant old gentleman, and as courteous as he was brave.
No one was better qualified to act in such a capacity, and he felt perfectly well assured that he could count upon his services on such an occasion.
The more he pondered the more convinced he was that there was now no possibility of retreating from the position in which he had been placed by the force of circumstances, conjointly, it must be admitted, with his own rashness and imprudence.
He felt that the position was a false one, and the fatal words, “it is too late,” fell from his lips again and again, and he could only resolve to drain the bitter cup which he had madly filled for himself.
He sat for an hour or two ruminating on the aspect of affairs, but the more he reflected the more distressed did he feel, until at length, worn out with bitter thoughts, he threw himself on his couch and sank into a fitful slumber.
On the following morning, immediately after his morning meal, he sallied forth and hastened at once to the house of the gentleman where the chevalier had taken up his quarters.
The man servant who admitted him said that the chevalier had not risen, but he would inform him of the earl’s presence, and in the course of a few minutes after this he was shown into an elegantly furnished bijou apartment, in which his friend was seated, sipping a cup of fragrant mocha. He professed to be overjoyed at seeing the earl, to whom he apologised for having kept waiting.
The old Frenchman looked jaded and worn, but he soon pulled himself together, and was as cheerful and vivacious as heretofore.
Lord Ethalwood was of course more than usually grave and thoughtful.
“It is a matter of business I have come upon, monsieur,” said he. “Indeed, I may say it is rather a serious business.”
“Ah, my worthy friend!” exclaimed the old Frenchman. “A little escapade, I suppose. Well, you may command both my advice and services. I need hardly intimate that.”
“I am perfectly well assured you will do your best to serve me,” returned the earl. “First and foremost let me put you in possession of all the facts connected with the case.”
The Frenchman bowed, and his companion proceeded. He gave him an unvarnished narrative of the events which led up to the proposed hostile meeting.
“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed the chevalier. “Risk your life in a duel with a low-born peasant, that’s not discreet. Bah! It’s madness. Positive madness.”
“It can’t be helped—I must give him satisfaction, I have pledged my word, and my honour is at stake,” observed Ethalwood.
“You ought to have seen me before undertaking such a foolhardy enterprise. What, fight with a ruffian of that type! Bah, it’s monstrous.”
“It is very indiscreet, I admit, but as I before observed, I cannot refuse now, and therefore have come hither to ask you to be my second.”
“Oh, oui, certainly; if you are determined to carry out your promise given to this low-bred hound, well, I am at your service.”
“I am determined. So don’t upbraid me for my rashness and folly. Promise to be ready at the appointed time.”
“The fellow is half a savage, and would not scruple to murder you if he had a chance of doing so.”
“I do not think that. No, monsieur, he is not without honour.”
“Bah! Don’t you mislead yourself supposing anything of the sort. You don’t know what sort of a man you have to deal with. A duel with such a person—well, I won’t say any more, but the whole affair appears to me altogether incomprehensible.”
“Why so?”
“How? Why that you should have suffered yourself to fall into such a trap. But you must bring your man down. Now you are in the scrape you must get out of it in the best way possible.”
“Then you agree to accompany me, and see fair play?”
“I should not be worthy the name I bear if I refused,” cried the chevalier, with a flourish of his right hand, and a significant nod. “Oh, yes, you may rely upon my services in this business—in this unfortunate business. But, my dear young friend, I will not attempt to conceal from you that I am greatly concerned at the course of events—greatly concerned.”
“I am not very well pleased myself, to speak the truth, but this is between ourselves.”
“We must make the best of a bad job. You are a good shot, that’s one thing in your favour—an excellent shot.”
“So is he, I should imagine.”
“With a rifle,” observed the chevalier, carelessly.
“And with a pistol as well, I presume.”
“These fellows as a rule are not so good at handling a pistol as a gun. Oh, you’ll wing your man, I dare say. Sacre! You must do so; and by gar, you shall.”
Ethalwood laughed, and said: “You speak in a confident tone.”
“And mean it,” cried the old Frenchman. “And now about the place of meeting and the hour?”
“The hour is six o’clock this evening; the place is on the skirts of the forest. I will show you where it is, for we had better go together.”
“By all means. We can drive over in my post-chaise.”
“That might attract attention. Better walk.”
“No, we will drive there. Never mind about attracting attention. I don’t care about walking. Let us drive there.”
“But we must not have an attendant.”
“Well, so be it. I will drive myself. We don’t require a coachman. We will go by ourselves. Will you call here for me, or shall I call for you?”
“I had better call here.”
“As you please. Let that be understood then. Six o’clock in the evening, eh? It ought to be in the morning, that is the usual course.”
“It ought, but the time is named and agreed upon. It is to be this evening at the hour I have named.”
“Bah, it does not much matter whether a man is sent out of the world in the evening or the morning for the matter of that.”
“I have passed my word.”
“Certainly. Now you will find some fine old cognac by your side there. Just help yourself to a glass. It will steady your nerves.”
“No, I thank you, I will not take anything just now.”
“But you must—I insist, just one glass. You are now in my hands, and must do as I tell you. This is not the first affair of honour I have been engaged in by a good many, and I may say that I have been singularly fortunate bringing my men through. Before we start this evening you will have to take another glass of brandy with a few drops of laudanum in it. It will wind you up like a clock, and you will be able to see through a brick wall. That is my specific for duellists. It’s the finest thing to take under the circumstances.”
“But I don’t require any stimulant.”
“No matter whether you require it or not, I intend to have my own way, and you have but to passively submit to my dictation. Leave all to me, I am an old soldier, and know pretty well what is requisite in such cases. My dear young friend, valour is one quality, and a very important element it is, but experience is another. Be of good cheer, for although I say it myself you are in good hands.”
“I am perfectly well assured of that,” returned the earl, “and esteem myself fortunate in having the assistance and services of so valuable an ally as yourself.”
“I am not likely to allow this headstrong young man to ride roughshod over you. Act according to my instructions, and it will go hard with us if you don’t polish off your man. I intend you to do so, and that is sufficient for our purpose.”
The chevalier Gustave de Monpres was on this occasion, as he had been in many similar cases, determined to have his own way. To say the truth the earl could not possibly have enlisted the services of any one better adapted to befriend him than the chevalier.
He was duly impressed with this fact, and felicitated himself upon having applied to him on this trying occasion.
After some further conversation he took leave of his friend, with the understanding that he was to call for him on his way to the fatal spot.
Lord Reginald Ethalwood returned to the widow’s house, where he dined, and strove as best he could to assume an air of cheerfulness, which, to say the truth, he was far from feeling. The day wore on, not very brightly, it is true, but it passed over, nevertheless. On consulting his watch, the earl found that the appointed hour was fast approaching.
Unobserved by any of the inmates of Madame Trieste’s chateau he passed through the garden gate and sallied forth, and at once bent his steps in the direction of the house in which his friend the chevalier was anxiously awaiting him.
He was much pleased at being able to leave the widow’s residence without attracting the notice of any one, as he thought, but he had reckoned without his host. His movements had been watched; and he had not got more than a hundred and fifty yards or so from the chateau when he became aware that someone was behind him. His attention was attracted by footsteps. He stopped to listen, and then the sound ceased.
“I am full of idle fancies. No wonder,” he ejaculated, and once more he continued on his way.
But again the sound fell upon his ear. It was at this time nearer and more distinct.
“Umph, I was not mistaken after all,” he murmured. Upon turning round and looking behind him he observed a female which, much to his surprise, he found to be Theresa Trieste.
“You here, darling?” he ejaculated. “Whither are you bound for?”
“It is not a question of whither I am bound for,” returned the French maiden. “That is of no import. Where are you going, my lord?”
“Where am I going, Theresa?”
“Yes, where?”
“Well, if you must know, I am about to pay a visit to my friend, Monsieur de Monpres.”
“Don’t think to deceive me by such a shallow pretext,” cried Theresa.
“Deceive you, my sweet pet, it is not at all likely I should attempt to do so.”
“I wish I could bring myself to believe what you say is true.”
“But it is true. There, see I pledge my most solemn word it is. What more can you desire? Why, my dear girl, you are trembling like an aspen leaf shaken by the winter’s blast.”
“Oh, my lord, there is something afoot which you are keeping from me—I feel assured there is. A boy brought you a letter yesterday—who was it from?”
“Who? What matters? It was a private matter. I will tell you all about it when I return.”
“Tell me who sent that letter, and tell me also what business takes you from our home this evening.”
“I have already told you I am about to pay a visit to the chevalier.”
“Nothing else?”
“Well, I cannot tell what our movements may be. I am going direct to him now; that’s all I am able to say at present.”
“Come back with me, and go to the chevalier to-morrow evening instead.”
“It may not be. I have passed my word.”
“Passed your word?”
“Yes!”
“To meet Gerome Chanet. Is it not so?”
Lord Ethalwood started back in surprise.
“What could possibly have put that in your head?” he ejaculated.
“It matters not how it came into my head. I feel too well assured that such is the case. Oh, my lord, avoid that man; have naught to say to him, and, above all, do not give him a meeting.”
“I will bear in mind what you have said. I like him not; but at the same time, my dear Theresa, you must permit me to be master of my own actions.”
“I saw a boy deliver a letter to you yesterday at the garden gate. I judged who it was from—Gerome Chanet—and judged also its purport. He would speak to you. Is that not so?”
“Assuming it is, what of that? I am not afraid of Gerome Chanet.”
“I am sure you are not, but tell me where he is waiting for you?”
“Waiting! What idle fancy is this? Have I not already told you that I am going to see the chevalier? What more do you require?”
“You shall not go to meet Chanet! I say you shall not!” she cried, vehemently.
“Who will prevent me if I am so disposed?”
“I will.”
“You will! Why, my dear Theresa, surely you do not mean me to understand that I am to act under the control of you. By what right do you assume this position?”
“By what? By the right of my love—my love for you, wild, hopeless as it is—my love that hangs upon your life, though it may be as the drowning wretch who clings to a spar that will but lengthen his torment and desert him at last.”
“I am not complimented by the simile. It is not at all likely that I should desert you. Be reasonable, dearest. I have an appointment, and as a gentleman and a man of honour I must keep it.”
While this conversation had been taking place both the earl and Theresa had walked side by side, not very rapidly, it is true, but nevertheless, every step they took brought them nearer to the house in which the chevalier was located.
Theresa Trieste saw plainly enough that the earl was not to be turned from his purpose; entreaties and arguments were alike in vain—so she continued to walk by his side, in the hope of discovering if her suspicions were correct.
He on his part did not appear at all disinclined to have her as a companion, and this threw her a little off her guard.
When she accosted him at first she was under the impression that he was going direct to some appointed spot to meet Chanet.
She had no idea, however, that it was for the purpose of fighting a duel with the young mountaineer, but she dreaded a meeting under any circumstances, and had striven hard to prevail upon her aristocratic lover to return to her mother’s residence.
“You seem very suspicious, Theresa,” said the earl, in a tone of banter. “I don’t know what I have done to give rise to this feeling. However, we are now more than half-way towards the residence where the chevalier is at present sojourning. You will be satisfied, I suppose, if you see me there—see me enter the house.”
“Oh, I am satisfied that you are going there, if that is what you mean,” she returned. “Monsieur de Monpres is a stranger to me, and it would not be seemly for me to be introduced to him under the present circumstances. Perhaps I had better turn back, and make the best of my way home.”
“As you please, Be of good cheer, my darling,” exclaimed the earl. “I will return as soon as possible. Let me have a little license to night, and then we will pass a happy hour or so before bedtime. Come, Theresa, do not be so downcast.” He placed his arms round her shoulders and gave her a long embrace.
“Oh, my lord, this love of mine will be fatal to one or both of us,” she ejaculated. “But of what avail is it to repine? I do love you so.”
“I feel assured of that, Theresa; and so I must leave you to a lonely walk home.”
“Return as soon as possible.”
“I will—I promise that.”
And so the two parted.
Lord Ethalwood walked on with accelerated speed. He looked once more at his watch, and found there was ample time for him to be at the place of appointment.
Nevertheless, he was anxious and troubled. Most men are under similar circumstances.
He found upon his arrival the Chevalier de Monpres, dressed in his uniform, looking like an officer in the Old Guard.
“I am glad you have come thus early. Nothing like taking time by the forelock,” cried De Monpres, in high glee, for he made it a rule to be in the best of spirits and assume an air of confidence in all cases of this sort. “Why, mon Dieu, are you mad?” exclaimed the old Frenchman, glaring at his visitor.
“Mad, no! What’s amiss, then?”
“Amiss! Goodness me, you are never going to face your man in that costume?”
“Why not?”
“What—in a white waistcoat! It’s not to be thought of for a moment. The act of a lunatic, mon ami—a wild lunatic!”
“I do not understand you.”
“What, a white waistcoat. Why, it’s offering a mark for your adversary. I won’t have it. Certain death if the fellow is anything of a shot.”
“I never thought of that. I’ll button up my coat.”
“I won’t permit you to wear a white waistcoat, not under any circumstances. Sacre, it’s ridiculous. Take it off and wear one of mine. It won’t fit you very well I dare say, but that’s a matter of secondary importance. Off with your waistcoat without further ado; and an open white shirt front! Here is a waistcoat which will button up to the throat—that’s the garment to fight a duel in.”
Lord Ethalwood smiled, took off his waistcoat, and put on the one handed to him by the old officer.
“There,” said the latter, “that’s better. Offer no mark to the enemy; and now, mark you, we must bring down our man at the first shot, if that be possible. We’ll manage it, I have made up my mind as to that, but let me see. Oh, yes, the brandy.”
“I don’t want any.”
“You will have to take it nevertheless.”
De Monpres poured out a glass of cognac, into which he carefully let fall a few drops of laudanum.
“That will steady your nerves—make you as bold and fearless as a lion. Top it off.”
“Must I?”
“Yes you must, and what is more, you shall.”
Although the earl objected to such a course, he knew it was no use refusing; so he made a virtue of necessity, and swallowed the draught.
“That will put new life into you,” cried the Frenchman; “and now the weapon. Have your brought it with you?”
“Yes, here it is.”
De Monpres made a minute inspection of the revolver, which was a six-shot one.
“Yes, a good weapon,” said he; “very good. We shall have to load on the ground, that is the usual course adopted in affairs of this sort. The seconds load and the principals fire.”
“How about time?” said Ethalwood.
“We’ve loads of time. My postchaise is in the back yard, and can be driven off at a moment’s notice. Everything is prepared, and may you bring down your man at the first shot—it will save us a deal of trouble. By-the-way, don’t aim at the head—at the chest; that’s better. Mind, cover him well with your barrel before the word to fire is given, and stand as firm as a rock. Oh, we’ll polish the scoundrel off.”
“You seem very confident, monsieur—I wish I was the same.”
“You must be—you must be confident—it’s half the battle. Go in and win.”
The loquacious Frenchman rattled on, cheering up his companion by an animated conversation during the whole of the journey. He never suffered Lord Ethalwood’s spirits to droop, and certainly he was in all things considered a most invaluable adviser and ally in a case of this sort. Without him the earl would have been quite lost.
Upon arriving at the appointed place of meeting the earl and Monsieur de Monpres found Chanet and a young man awaiting them at the outskirts of the forest.
“You are punctual,” said Gerome. “I expected you would be so.”
“The Chevalier de Monpres,” returned the earl, introducing his friend. Chanet bowed and introduced the young man he had brought for a second as Monsieur Vasseralt. Then there was another exchange of courtesies and the chevalier and Vasseralt drew on one side and conversed in whispers; meanwhile the two principals stood silent and motionless.
“We had better proceed to the glade in the forest without further hesitation,” observed the chevalier; “by standing here we may probably attract attention. Forward, gentlemen,” added he, as he led the way. The three other gentlemen followed.
“Now, gentlemen, you had better take your positions.”
“Perhaps we had better charge the weapons first,” suggested Vasseralt.
“As you please, sir,” returned the chevalier, “it is not a matter of very great moment. We will charge them.”
“The six barrels are to be loaded,” said Gerome, “and we are to keep on firing till one of us falls. That is the understanding.”
“It is against all rules laid down in such cases,” observed the chevalier, “and it is a most murderous and un-Christianlike mode of procedure, but if it is an agreement, of course we must, I suppose, abide by it.”
“It is an agreement. Ask your friend,” cried Gerome.
“Let it be as Monsieur Chanet wishes; I offer no objection,” said the earl.
“I enter my protest against such a course, but will do as you desire me. So be it—the six chambers have to be charged.”
The seconds proceeded to carry out these instructions, after which the two principals were placed in position.
De Monpres walked up to the side of the earl and handed him his pistol.
“Be sure you stand firm and aim at his body—not at the head. You’ll bring down your man. That fellow has no idea of loading a pistol; in addition to which his powder is of the very worst description. You have every chance in your favour, and must come off victor.”
Having delivered himself of this speech the chevalier withdrew.
“Now, gentlemen,” said he, “it has been agreed upon that I am to give the signal for firing. It is this: one, two, three—fire! When the last of these words is uttered you discharge your weapons. How say you? Do you understand?”
Both the belligerents answered in the affirmative.
The chevalier glanced anxiously for a moment at his man; then he said in slow, deliberate voice—
“One, two, three—fire!”
Both weapons were discharged simultaneously. The earl was conscious of the fact that a bullet passed within an inch or two of his head.
Gerome Chanet staggered for a moment, threw up his arms, and then fell forward on his face.
“See to your man, Monsieur Vasseralt,” exclaimed the chevalier.
Advancing quickly, and in an evident state of trepidation, the young Swiss bent over the prostrate form of his friend, whom he called by name but received no answer. He then turned him over and observed a dark stream of blood oozing from his chest. The ill-fated Chanet breathed one last sigh and expired.
“He is dead! Gracious heaven, he is dead!” exclaimed the Swiss. “Come this way—for mercy’s sake come.”
The chevalier walked deliberately forward and looked in the face of the dead man.
“It is all over with him,” he ejaculated. “He has fallen at the first shot. Well, he brought it on himself, and he has paid the penalty.”
“I wish I had not had any hand in this business,” said Vasseralt. “I do most bitterly regret ever giving my consent to act as second. It is the first time I have been engaged in such a capacity, and I will take good care it shall be the last. Can nothing be done for him?”
“My good fellow, we cannot restore the dead to life,” return De Monpres. “If young men will be rash and hot-headed, and rush into affairs of this sort, they must abide the issue. Your friend is slain, but has died honourably—what more need be said?”
“Oh, but it’s very terrible.”
“Can I do anything to serve you?” said the courteous old Frenchman. “If so, command me.”
“Inform his family of this dreadful tragedy.”
“No, I cannot do that. It would not be in conformity with the usual course of events. It is your duty to apprise his friends of the manner of his death—not mine. Permit me as an old soldier to express my most unqualified satisfaction of your conduct throughout the whole of this painful affair, and so good night.”
He offered his hand to Vasseralt, which the latter accepted, and then withdrew from the ground in company with Earl Ethalwood, who, now that it was all over, fairly broke down.
“It is of no use your pulling a long face,” said de Monpres. “You have reason to be thankful, and I congratulate you. Didn’t I tell you how it would end? I knew you would put him to bed with the first shot, and my words were prophetic. Ah, mon ami, he meant mischief. A blood-thirsty scoundrel the world is well rid of! Come, here is the postchaise; let us drive off at once, before the affair gets wind. Jump in.”
The earl obeyed mechanically, for he appeared to be in a perfect state of bewilderment. It was the first time he had slain a fellow-creature, and he upbraided himself for the part he had played in the dark and sanguinary crime. He could not conceal from himself that his adversary had been deeply wronged, that he had during their interview in the forest displayed a nobleness of purpose in regard to Theresa, which could not fail to command the respect of all right-minded persons. He was willing to make any sacrifice for the woman he loved, even to giving her up to his rival, if he could thereby have ensured her happiness. The earl pondered over all these circumstances, and acknowledged to himself that he had committed a great wrong.
“It seems to me, my friend,” said the chevalier, “that you are letting this little affair disturb your equanimity. Why, Lord bless us, it is after all but an everyday occurrence. The fellow is better out of the world than in it. Cheer up—don’t look so cursedly miserable.”
“I don’t feel very well satisfied with myself, I candidly confess,” murmured Ethalwood. “It has been a most unfortunate business.”
“No such thing—not as far as you are concerned. On the contrary, it has, to my thinking, been most fortunate. You’ve got out of a scrape in a most satisfactory and I may say gallant manner. We’ll just have a bottle of sparkling hock and a choice cigar, and that will put you all right again.”
“Ah, my dear de Monpres, I am afraid it will take a great deal more than that to efface from my mind the fearful incidents of to-night. I feel myself to be a guilty wretch, an assassin, and murderer.”
“Mon Dieu, monsieur, you are talking in a wild, incoherent manner. Assassin and murderer—bah! Be reasonable if you please. Don’t talk in such a false and ridiculous strain. Come, here we are at our domicile. Jump out, and come in—ha, ha! and make your life happy. I won’t have you accuse yourself thus wrongfully. Murder—bah! it is ridiculous.”
The chevalier rattled on in his accustomed vivacious and loquacious manner, endeavouring as best he could to reassure the earl, who was, however, despite his friend’s playful pleasantries, greatly troubled at the tragic event of the evening. He, however, strove to play up to the exuberant Frenchman, and upon entering the house he drained off in rapid succession several glasses of champagne. Under the influence of the sparkling wine he became greatly exhilarated, and was enabled to listen with something like satisfaction to the lively discourse of his companion, the chevalier.
An hour or so passed away, and then the earl remembered the promise he had given to Theresa.
Making the best excuse he could, he rose to take his departure, but De Monpres did not feel disposed to part with him, and pressed him to remain at the chateau for the remainder of the night.
“You can return to the widow’s residence as early as you choose in the morning,” said the chevalier.
“I am under a pledge to be back early to-night,” answered Ethalwood, “and I am quite sure you will excuse me.”
“When a lady’s in the case all things must give place,” observed his companion, “and therefore I will let you have your own way—but I don’t care about your going alone, so with your permission I will drive you there, and see you safely housed. What say you?”
Ethalwood hesitated for a brief period, and then said—
“Perhaps you are right. All things considered it would, perhaps, be just as well for me to have a companion, and I cannot have a better one than yourself.”
The postchaise was once more brought into requisition, and the chevalier drove his friend home—or rather to the widow’s abode, where he had taken up his quarters. When the vehicle arrived in front of the garden-gate, the earl alighted and begged the chevalier to enter the house that he might be introduced to the inmates.
The chevalier, however, politely declined.
“No,” said he, “not now. I will be introduced to Madame Trieste on some other occasion—this certainly cannot be considered a favourable one. No, my lord, I will leave you now, and hope to see you some time to-morrow. Be of good cheer, and do not let this little affair dash your spirits, and so farewell for the present.”
The two gentlemen shook hands, and De Monpres drove off.