CHAPTER XX.I GO BACK AGAIN.

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We arranged to leave Paris on the following morning.

It was three hours after noontide when the ceremony was over. I made a rendezvous with M. Drouet for five o’clock at the “Hotel des Postes,” and left him to give my thanks and bid adieu to Maître Duplay and his family.

All the household had been to the fête of the federation.

I met the group, consisting of M. and Madame Duplay, the two daughters, and the two apprentices, at the top of the Rue St. Honoré.

I went up to and saluted them.

They, too, had remarked the hesitation with which the King took the oath, and were, in consequence, sorrowful.

We entered the house; the dinner awaited us; Duplay invited me to join them; I assented.

During the meal, Félicién, sure of his superiority over me as a fencer, spoke of the promise I had made to try a bout with him; and asked me, if, after dinner, I was prepared to stand by our agreement, and give M. Duplay and his daughters, the pleasure of witnessing our prowess. I replied that if it would please my worthy hosts, I should only be too happy to make such a slight return for their kindness and hospitality towards me.

Dinner finished, we passed into the workshop, Félicién evidently expecting an easy victory over me, and speaking much as a master would to a pupil.

M. Duplay and the young ladies being seated, we each took our mask and foil.

“Be easy,” said Félicién, in a whisper intended to be heard; “I will not hurt you.”

“Thanks!” replied I; “for I shall probably be at your mercy.”

“Would you like to begin?” asked Félicién.

“As you please,” said I.

We placed ourselves on guard.

At the first pass, I saw that Félicién tried to touch me; which, between strangers, lacks courtesy.

However, I appeared not to notice it, and contented myself by parrying his thrust.

Now came my turn.

I made four or five passes only; but they were sufficient to show me that, though Félicién was a tolerable fencer, he had no chance with me.

I had paid great attention to the instructions given me, as I wished to make rapid progress; while Bertrand being an able master, and I his sole scholar, he was enabled to devote all his attention to me.

Félicién, also, after the first few passes, perceived my superiority over him.

I allowed him to make five or six thrusts at me, simply contenting myself with parrying them.

Once he grazed the wristband of my shirt, but he did not dare say “Touched!”

I saw the blood mount to his face.

“My dear Félicién,” said I, “I have been three hours under arms, and am fatigued. If you will allow me, I should like to put an end to our combat. The ladies, I am sure, will accept my excuse.”

“They may, but I will not,” said he. “I know full well, by the strength of your parries, that your arm is not fatigued. Say that you believe yourself to be a better fencer than I am, and that you are generous enough not to pursue your advantage.”

“Then you wish to continue?”

“Certainly. If you are the better man, I will take the lesson, as an obedient scholar should.”

“You hear the promise that M. Félicién makes,” said I, turning to M. Duplay; “and you are witness that I continue solely on that agreement?”

“Yes, yes!” cried all the spectators, especially the two girls, who seemed to me to wish the pride of the apprentice lowered.

I saluted Félicién with my foil.

“I await you,” said I; “take care of my ripostas, which are very rapidly delivered.”

“We will see,” said Félicién, dealing me a thrust which I had only just time to parry.

But, at last, I touched, almost imperceptibly, his breast with the button of my foil.

He bounded backwards; and while neither of us cried “Touched?” yet all the spectators saw that it was so.

He again rushed on me, his teeth set, his lips pale.

He crossed my foil, and passedone, two. But in retreat, his foil caught my guard, and snapped off, about two inches from the button.

But he continued to fight, as if he knew not that his weapon was broken. So I took the first opportunity that offered; and, twisting his blade out of his hand, sent it flying across the room.

“Pardon me,” said I, “for disarming you; I know that it is not etiquette; but neither is it etiquette to fence with a buttonless foil. You might have dangerously wounded me, and been unhappy yourself ever afterwards.”

Then, taking off my mask, I hung it on the wall, and placed my foil by the side of it.

Félicién saw plainly that I did not wish to continue the combat; and, without taking off his mask, he stalked out of the room.

“Ah!” cried M. Duplay; “you have read him a good lesson, and I must say that he deserved it. Now then, say good-bye to the ladies, and let us be off to the Rue Grange Batélière, where you will introduce me to M. Drouet. I need not tell you that if I hear of your coming to Paris without paying me a visit, I shall be your bitter enemy for life.”

I bade the two girls good-bye, and we set out.

As I expected, Félicién was awaiting us in the court.

The moment he saw me come out with M. Duplay, who evidently only came with me to prevent a quarrel, Félicién began to divest himself of his upper garments; but M. Duplay cried out, “Come here, you young vagabond!—I tell you, come here!”

Félicién approached unwillingly.

“Give your hand to my young friend here—he has a right to it.”

“Has what?” asked Félicién.

“Nothing,” I hastened to reply. “M. Duplay believes that you knew your foil to be unbuttoned, but I have told him ‘no!’ Come; shake hands, and be friends.”

I held out my hand.

Félicién took it with rather a bad grace.

“There,” said M. Duplay; “you have said adieu! We go our way—you can go yours.”

And he dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

We went our way.

“You see, I was right in coming out with you,” said M. Duplay. “The little scoundrel was waiting there to pick a quarrel with you. He would not be a bad carpenter if he would work, but he thinks the trade beneath him. He loves, and is jealous of Cornelie. One can easily see that, but he is eighteen months younger than she. I don’t think that Cornelie is very fond of him; but you have given a lesson to M. Veto, and you have done well.”

I did not reply, as I agreed in every respect with M. Duplay.

As the clock struck five, we arrived at the Rue Grange Batélière. We found M. Drouet punctual. I introduced M. Duplay, whom he already knew through my speaking of him.

We spent the evening fraternising with the Parisians.

We each of us received a medal in commemoration of the occasion.

At five o’clock in the morning, the drum beat the recall. We formed ranks, and set out for the Barrier Pantin. Meaux was fixed upon as our first halting-place.

Four days after our departure from Paris, we arrived at Menehould about three hours after mid-day. We had, on an average, marched about twelve leagues a day.

M. Drouet wished me to dine with him, but I knew that my uncle would be uneasy if I returned not with the others; and, somehow or other, I had a presentiment that I must hasten, if I wished to see him alive.

I was a quick walker. I ran down the slope of the mountain, and traversed the village at a quick trot.

On passing the priest’s house, I saw Mademoiselle Marguerite in the doorway. When she saw me, she came forward.

I feared what she was going to ask; so I at once said, “M. le Curé is in capital health, and will be here in an hour. What news of my uncle?”

“Good, my dear Réné—good; but you have mentioned to him your arrival?”

“No, I have not. Why should I?”

“Well, he told me that you would arrive at half-past seven this evening; and he said, ‘Thank heaven, I shall be able to see and bless him before I die!’”

“He said that? Well, I must hurry on, for I have no time to lose.”

On leaving the village, and turning the first angle of the forest, one could see the cottage of Father Descharmes.

I turned the corner in a moment.

Father Descharmes was at the door, seated in his arm-chair, in the same place I had left him, enjoying the rays of the setting sun.

I waved my hat on the end of my musket. I thought that he feebly waved his hand in return.

I ran quicker than ever; and the nearer I came the more his face brightened up.

When I was not more than ten paces distant, he lifted himself from the chair, and, raising his eyes to heaven, he said “I knew well that I should see my child again. ‘Now let Thy servant depart in peace, according to Thy word.’”

I heard these words, and threw myself on my knees.

“Bless me, oh, my uncle!” I cried.

My voice was choked with sobs, for I saw that I had arrived just in time to receive his last breath.

I felt the old man’s hands placed upon my forehead, and I fancied that I heard his voice murmuring feebly a prayer.

When the prayer was finished, he cried, “Oh, heaven, receive my spirit!”

I felt his hand slowly slipping from my brow.

I stayed a moment immovable, and then, taking his hands in mine, I raised myself gently, and looked at him.

He had fallen backwards, his head resting on his breast, and his eyes and mouth open.

But the mouth no longer had breath, and the light had departed from the eyes.

He was dead!

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