We were at luncheon at her villa one day, we three, and with us, of course, Madame Briande, an exceedingly well-informed and tactful little woman. Coralie had been very silent and (as usual) attentive to her meal. The rest had chattered on many subjects. Suddenly she spoke.
"It has been very amusing," she said, with a little yawn that ended in a rather weary smile. "For my part I can conceive only one thing that could increase the entertainment."
"What's that, Coralie?" asked Madame Briande.
Coralie waved her right hand toward me and her left toward Wetter.
"Why, that we should have for audience and as spectators of our little feast your subjects, sire, and, monsieur, your followers."
Clearly Coralie had been maturing this rather startling speech for some time; she launched it with an evident enjoyment of its malice. A moment of astonished silence followed; madame's tact was strained beyond its uttermost resources; she smiled nervously and said nothing; Wetter turned red. Ilooked full in Coralie's eyes, drained my glass of cognac, and laughed.
"But why should that be amusing?" I asked. "And, at least, shall we not add to our imaginary audience the crowd of your admirers?"
"As you will," said she with a shrug. "Whomever we add they would see nothing but two gentlemen getting under the table, oh, so quickly!"
Madame Briande became visibly distressed.
"Is it not so?" drawled Coralie in lazy enjoyment of her excursion.
"Why," said I, "I should most certainly invoke the shelter of your tablecloth, mademoiselle. A king must avoid being misunderstood."
"I thought so," said she with a long look at me. "And you, monsieur?" she added, turning to Wetter.
"I should not get under the table," said he. He strove to render his tone light, but his voice quivered with suppressed passion.
"You wouldn't?" she asked. "You'd sit here before them all?"
"Yes," said he.
Madame Briande rose. Her evident intention was to break up the party. Coralie took no notice; we men sat on, opposite one another, with her between us on the third side of the small square table.
"Must not a politician avoid—being misunderstood?" she asked Wetter.
"Unless there is something else that he values more," was the reply.
She turned to me, smiling still.
"Would not that be so with a king also?"
"Certainly, if there could be such a thing."
"But you think there could not?"
"I can't call such a thing to mind, mademoiselle."
"Ah, you can't call it to mind! No, you can't call it to mind. It seems to me that there is a difference, then, between politicians and kings."
Madame Briande was moving about the room in evident discomfort. Wetter was sitting with his hand clenched on the table and his eyes downcast.
Coralie looked long and intently at him. Then she turned her eyes on me. I took out a cigarette, lit it, and smiled at her.
"You—you would get under the table?" she asked me.
"You catch my meaning perfectly."
"Then aren't you ashamed to sit at it?"
"Yes," said I, and laughed.
"Ah!" she cried, shaking her fist at me, and herself laughing. Then she leaned over toward me and whispered, "You shall retract that."
Wetter looked up and saw her whispering to me, and laughing as she whispered. He frowned, and I saw his hand tremble on the table. Though I laughed and fenced with her and defied her, I was myself in some excitement. I seemed to be playing a match; and I had confidence in my game.
Wetter spoke abruptly in a harsh but carefully restrained voice.
"It is not for me to question the King's account of himself," he said, "but so far as I am concerned your question did me a wrong. Openly I come here, openly I leave here. All know why I come, and what I desire in coming. I ask nothing better than to declare it before all the city."
She rose and made him a curtsey, then she gave a slight yawn and observed:
"So now we know just where we are."
"The King has defined his position with great accuracy," said Wetter with an open sneer.
"Yes? What is it?" she asked.
"His own words are enough; mine could add no clearness—and—"
"Might give offence?" she asked.
"It is possible," said he.
"Then we come to this: which is better, a king under the table or a politician at it?" She burst out laughing.
Madame Briande had fled to a remote corner. Wetter was in the throes of excitement. A strange coolness and recklessness now possessed me. I was insensible of everything at this moment except the impulse of rivalry and the desire for victory. Nothing in the scene had power to repel me, my eyes were blind to everything of ugly aspect in it.
"To define the question, mademoiselle, should be but a preliminary to answering it," said I, with a bow.
"I would answer it this minute, sire, but——"
"You hesitate, perhaps?"
"Oh, no; but my hair-dresser is waiting for me."
"Let no such trifle detain you then," I cried. "For I, even I the coward, had sooner——"
"Be misunderstood?"
"Why, precisely. I had sooner be misunderstood than that your hair should not be perfectly dressed at the theatre."
Wetter rose to his feet. He said "Good-bye" to Coralie, not a word more. To me he bowed very low and very formally. I returned his salutation with a cool nod. As he turned to the door Coralie cried:
"I shall see you at supper,mon cher?"
He turned his head and looked at her.
"I don't know," he said.
"Very well. I like uncertainty. We will hope."
He went out. I stood facing her for a moment.
"Well?" said she, looking in my eyes, and seeming to challenge an expression of opinion.
"You are pleased with yourself?"
"Yes."
"You have done some mischief."
"How much?"
"I don't know. But you love uncertainty."
"True, true. And you seem to think that I love candour."
"Don't you?"
"I think that I love everything and everybody in the world except you."
I laughed again. I knew that I had triumphed.
"Behold your decision," I cried, "and the hair-dresser still waits!"
She did not answer me. She stood there smiling. I took her hand and kissed it with much and even affected gallantry. Then I went and paid a like attention to Madame Briande. As the little woman made her curtsey she turned alarmed and troubled eyes up to me.
"Oh,mon Dieu!" she murmured.
"Till to-night," smiled Coralie.
I was reading the other day the memoirs of an eminent English man of letters, now dead. He had paid a long visit to Forstadt, and had much to say (sometimes, I think, in a vein of veiled irony) about Victoria, her literary tastes and her literary circle. Finding amusement enough to induce me to turn over a few more pages, I came on the following passage:
"With the King himself I conversed once only; but I saw him often and heard much about him. He was then twenty-four—a tall and very thin young man, with dark brown hair and a small mustache of a lighter tint. His nose was aquiline, his eyes rather deep set, his face long and inclining to the hatchet-shape. He had beautiful hands, of which he was said to be proud. He stooped a little when walking, but displayed considerable dignity of carriage. He was accused of haughtiness, except toward a few intimates. Unquestionably his late adviser, Hammerfeldt, had imbued him with some notions as to his position which it is hardly unjust to call mediæval. A wit, or would-be wit, said of him that he postulated God in order to legitimize the powers of Augustin, his deputy. Certain persons very closely acquainted with him (I withhold names) gave a curious account of his character. Usually he was reserved and even secretive, cautious, cold, and free from enthusiasms and follies alike. But at times he appeared to be taken with moods of strong feeling. Then he would speak freely to the first person who might be by, was eager for merriment and dissipation, not fastidious as to how he came by what he wanted, seeming forgetful of the sterner rule by which his daily life was governed. A reaction would generally follow, and the King would appear to take a revenge on himself by acid and savagely humorous comments on his own acts and on the companions of his hours of relaxation. So far as I studied him for myself, I was led to conclude that he possessed a very impressionable and passionate temperament, but contrived, in general, to keep it in repression. There were one or two scandals related about him; but when we consider his position and temptations, we must give credit either to his virtues or to his discretion that such stories were not more numerous. I liked him and thought well of him, but I do think that he enjoyed a disposition likely to result in a happy life for himself. He was said to have great attractions for women; but I am not aware that he admitted persons of either sex to his confidence or friendship. He was, I imagine, jealous of even appearing to be under any influence."
This impression of me was written just about the time of my acquaintance with Coralie Mansoni and of the events which led to a sudden break in it. The judgment of me seems very fair and marked by considerable acumen. I have quoted it because it may serve in some degree to explain my conduct at the time. It also appears to have an interest of its own as an independent appreciation formed by a fair-minded and competent observer. I wish that the same hand had painted an adequate portrait of Wetter, for his character better deserved study than my own; but with the curious prejudice against politicians that so often affects the minds of students and men of letters (those hermits of brain-cells) the writer dismisses Wetter, briefly and almost contemptuously, as an able but unscrupulous politician, addicted to extravagances and irregularity in private life. He gives more space to William Adolphus than to Wetter! So difficult it is even for superior minds to remain altogether unaffected by the lustre of rank; the old truism could not be better exhibited.
I kept my appointment and went again to Coralie's in the evening. I took with me Vohrenlorf, my aide-de-camp (brother to the General, my former governor); there had been a dinner at the palace, and we were both in uniform. I had hardly expected Wetter to come that evening, but he was already there when I arrived. He seemed in an excited state; I found afterward that he was fresh from the delivery of a singularly brilliant and violent speech in the Chamber. I saluted him with intentional and marked politeness. He made no more response than purest formality demanded. I was aggrieved at this, for I desired to be friendly with him in spite of our rather absurd rivalry. Turning away from him, I sat down by Coralie and asked her if supper were ready.
"We're waiting for Varvilliers," she answered.
"But where is Madame Briande?"
"She went upstairs. I wanted a word with Wetter. She'll be down directly."
"A word with Wetter?"
"Why not, sire?" she asked with aggressive innocence.
"There can be no reason why not, mademoiselle," I replied, smiling.
We were interrupted by Varvilliers' arrival. He also had dined at the palace, and was in full dress.
"How gay my little house is to-night," drawled Coralie, as she rang the bell and ordered, in exactly the same manner, the descent of Madame Briande and the ascent of supper. Both orders were promptly obeyed, and we were left alone. Servants were never allowed to remain in waiting on these occasions.
Varvilliers was in fine vein that night, and Wetter seconded him. The one glittered with sharp-cut gems of speech, the other struck chords of deep and touching music. I played a more modest part, madame and Vohrenlorf were audience, Coralie seemed the judge whose hand was to award the prize. Yet she was indolent, and appeared to listen to no more than half of what was said. We finished eating and began to smoke; the wine still went round. Suddenly a pause fell on us. Amotfrom Varvilliers had setfinisto our subject, and another delayed presenting itself. To my surprise Wetter turned to me.
"In the Chamber to-night, sire," he said, "there was a question about your marriage."
I perceived at once the malice which inspired his remark, but I answered him gaily, and in a tone that was in harmony with the scene.
"I wish to heaven," said I, "there were a question about it anywhere else. Alas, it is a certainty."
"Why, so is death, sire," cried Varvilliers, "but we do not discuss it at supper."
"Does M. de Varvilliers quarrel with my choiceof a subject?" asked Wetters. He spoke calmly now, but it was not hard to discern his great excitement.
"I quarrel, sir, with nobody except quarrellers," answered the Frenchman impatiently.
"Well, then——" began Wetter.
"I think you forget my presence," I said coldly, "and this lady's also." I waved my hand toward Coralie. She lay back in her chair, smiling and holding an unlighted cigarette between her fingers.
"I forget, sire, neither your presence nor your due," said Wetter. With that he took a pocket-book from his pocket and flung it on the table before me. "There is my debt," he said.
I sat back in my chair and did not move.
"You choose a strange time for business," I observed. "Vohrenlorf, see what is in this pocket-book."
Vohrenlorf examined it, then he came and whispered in my ear, "Notes for 90,000 marks." It was the amount Wetter owed me with accrued interest. I was amazed. He could not have raised the money except at a most extravagant rate. I made no remark, but I knew that he had risked ruin by this repayment, and I knew well why he had made it. He would not have me for creditor as well as for king and rival.
Varvilliers burst out laughing.
"Upon my word," said he, "these gentlemen of the Chamber can think of nothing but money. Don't you wonder at them, mademoiselle?"
"Money is good to think of," said Coralie reflectively.
"An admirable candour, isn't it, sire?" he said, turning to me and pointing to Coralie.
I was disturbed and out of humour. Again I was in conflict. I thought of what she was, and wondered that such men, and men so placed, as Wetter and I should quarrel about her; I looked in her face and felt a momentary conviction that all the world might fall to fighting on her account; at least things more absurd have surely happened. But I answered smoothly and composedly. (That trick at least I had learned.)
"Sincerity is our hostess's greatest charm," said I.
Wetter laughed loudly and sneeringly. Coralie turned a gaze of indifferent curiosity on him. He puzzled her, tiresomely sometimes. I knew that he meant an insult. My blood runs hot at such moments. I was about to speak when Varvilliers forestalled me. He leaned across the table and said in a very low voice to Wetter:
"Sir, his Majesty is the only gentleman in Forstadt who can not resent an insult."
I recollect well little Madame Briande's pale face, as she half rose from her seat with clasped hands. Coralie still smiled. Vohrenlorf was red and fierce, with his hand on the hilt of his sword. Varvilliers was calm, cool, polished in demeanour.
For a moment or two Wetter sat silent, his eyes intently fixed on the Vicomte's face. Then he said in a tone as low as Varvilliers' had been:
"I think his Majesty remembers his disabilities too late—or has them remembered for him."
Vohrenlorf rose to his feet, carried away by anger and excitement.
"Sir——" he cried loudly.
"Vohrenlorf, be quiet. Sit down," said I. "M. Wetter is right."
None spoke. Even Coralie seemed affected togravity; or was it that we had touched the spring of her dramatic instinct? After a few minutes I turned to Madame Briande and introduced some indifferent topic. I spoke alone and found no answer. Coralie was now regarding me with obvious curiosity.
"The air of this room is hot," said I. "Shouldn't we be better in the other? If the ladies will lead the way, we'll follow immediately."
"I'm very well here," said Coralie.
"Oblige me," said I, rising and myself opening the door that led to the inner room.
After a moment's hesitation Coralie passed out, and madame followed her. I closed the door behind them and, turning, faced the three men. Wetter stood alone by the mantelpiece; the others were still near the table.
"In everything but the moment of his remark M. Wetter was right," said I. "I didn't remember in time that I am not placed as other men; I will not remember it now. Varvilliers, you mustn't be concerned in this. Vohrenlorf, I put myself in your hands."
"Good God, you won't fight?" cried Varvilliers.
"Vohrenlorf will do for me what he would for any gentleman who put himself in his hands," said I.
The position was too hard for young Vohrenlorf. He sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. "No, no, I can't," he muttered. Wetter stood still as a rock, looking not at any of us, but down toward the floor. Varvilliers drank a glass of wine and then wiped his mustache carefully with a napkin.
"Your Majesty," said he, "will not do me theinjustice to suppose that I am not in everything and most readily at your command. But I would beg the honour of representing your Majesty in this affair."
"Impossible!" said I briefly.
"Consider, sire. To fight you is ruin to M. Wetter."
"As regards that, would not M. Wetter in his turn reflect too late?" I asked stiffly.
Vohrenlorf looked up with a hopeless dazed expression. Varvilliers was at a loss. Wetter's figure and face were still unmoved. A sudden idea came into my head.
"There is no need for M. Wetter to be ruined," said I. "Whatever the result may be it shall seem an accident."
Wetter looked up with a quick jerk of his head. I glanced at the clock.
"In four hours it will be light," I said. "Let us meet at six in the Garden Pavilion at the Palace. Varvilliers, since you desire to assist us, I have no doubt M. Wetter will accept your services. It will be well to have no more present than necessary. The Pavilion, gentlemen, I need hardly remind you, is fitted up for revolver practice. Well, there are targets at each end. It will be unfortunate, but not strange, if one of us steps carelessly into the line of fire."
They understood my idea. But Varvilliers had an objection.
"What if both of you?" he asked, lifting his brows.
"That's so unlikely," said I. "Come, shall it be so?"
Wetter looked me full in the face, and bowed low.
"I am at his Majesty's orders," said he. He spoke now quite calmly.
Varvilliers and Vohrenlorf seemed to regard him with a sort of wonder. At the risk of ridicule I must confess to something of the same feeling. A bullet is no respecter of persons, and has no sympathy with ideas which (as the Englishman observes) it is hardly unjust to call mediæval. Yes, even I myself was a little surprised that Wetter should meet me in a duel. But, while I was surprised, I was glad.
"I am greatly indebted to M. Wetter," I said, returning his bow, "in that he does not insist on my disabilities."
For the briefest moment he smiled at me; I think my speech touched his humour. Then he grew grave again, and thanked Varvilliers formally for the offer of his services.
"There remains but one thing," said I. "We must assure the ladies that any difference of opinion there was between us is entirely past. Let us join them."
Vohrenlorf opened the door of the inner room and I entered, the rest following. Madame Briande sat in a straight-backed chair at the table; she had a book before her, but her restless anxious air made me doubt whether she had read much of it. I looked round for Coralie. There on the sofa she lay, her head resting luxuriously on the cushions and her bosom rising and falling in gentle regular breathing. The affair had not been interesting enough to keep Coralie awake. But now Vohrenlorf shut the door rather noisily; she opened her eyes, stretched her arms and yawned.
"Ah! You've done quarrelling?" she asked.
"Absolutely. We're all friends again, and have come to say farewell."
"Well, I'm very sleepy," said she, with much resignation. "Go and sleep well, my friends."
"We're forgiven for our bad manners?"
"Oh, but you were very amusing. You're all going home now?"
"So we propose, mademoiselle."
Her eyes chanced to fall on Wetter. She pointed her finger at him and began to laugh.
"What makes you as pale as a ghost, my friend?" she asked.
"It's late; I'm tired," he answered lamely and awkwardly.
She turned a shrewd glance on me. I smiled composedly.
"Ah, well, it's no affair of mine," she said.
In turn we took farewell of her and of madame. But, as I was going out, she called me.
"In a minute, Vohrenlorf," I cried, waving my hand toward the door. The rest passed out. Madame had wandered restlessly to the fireplace at the other end of the room. I returned to Coralie's sofa.
"You're going too?" she asked.
"Certainly," said I. "I must rest. I have to rise early, and it's close on two o'clock."
"You don't look sleepy."
"I depart from duty, not from inclination."
"You'll come to see me to-morrow?"
"If I possibly can. Could you doubt it?"
"And why might you possibly not be able?"
"I am a man of many occupations."
"Yes. Quarrelling with Wetter is one."
"Indeed that's all over."
"I'm not sure I believe you."
"You reduce me to despair. How can I convince you?"
Madame Briande walked suddenly to the door and went out. I heard her invite Vohrenlorf to take a glass of cognac, and his ready acceptance. Coralie was sitting on the sofa now, looking at me curiously.
"I have liked you very much," she said slowly. "You are a good fellow, a good friend. I don't know how it is—I feel uncomfortable to-night. Will you draw back a curtain and open a window? It's hot."
I obeyed her; the cool night air rushed in on us, fresh and delicious. She drew her legs up sideways on the sofa, clasping her ankles with her hand.
"Don't you know," she cried impatiently, "how sometimes one is uncomfortable and doesn't know why? It seems as though something was going to happen, one's money to be lost, or one's friends to die or go away; that somehow they had misfortunes preparing for one."
"I know the feeling well enough, but I'm sure you needn't have it to-night."
"Oh, I don't know. It doesn't come without a reason. You've no superstitions, I suppose? I have many; as a child I learned them all. They're never wrong. Yes, something is to happen."
I shrugged my shoulders and laughed.
"You'll come to-morrow?" she asked, with increased and most unusual urgency.
"If possible," I answered again.
"But why won't you promise? Why do you always say 'if possible'? You're tiresome with your'if possible.'" She shrugged her shoulders petulantly.
"I might be ill."
"Yes, and you might be dead, but——" She had begun petulantly and impatiently, as though she were angry at my excuse and meant to exhibit its absurdity. But now she stopped suddenly. In the pause the wind moaned.
"I hate that sound," she cried resentfully. "It comes from the souls of the dead as they fly through the air. They fly round and round the houses, crying to those who must join them soon."
"Ah, well, these people were, doubtless, often wrong when they were alive. Why must they be always right when they're dead?"
"No, death is near to-night. I wish you would stay with me—here, talking and forgetting it's night. I would make you coffee and sing to you. We would shut the window and light all the lights, and pretend it was day."
"I can't stay," I said. "I must get back. I have business early."
It is difficult to be in contact with such a mood as hers was that night and not catch something of its infection. Reason protests, but imagination falls a ready prey. I had no fear, but a sombre apprehension of evil settled on me. I seemed to know that our season of thoughtless, reckless merriment was done, and I mourned for it. There came over me a sorrow for her, but I made no attempt to express what she certainly would not have understood. To feel for others what they do not feel for themselves is a distortion of sympathy which often afflicts me. Her discomfort was purely childish, a sudden fear of the dark night, the dark world, theways of fortune so dark and unknowable. No self-questioning and no sting of conscience had any part in it. She had been happy, and she wanted to go on being happy; but now she was afraid she was going to be unhappy, and she shrank from unhappiness as from a toothache. I took her hand and kissed and caressed it.
"Go to bed, my dear," said I. "You'll be laughing at this in the morning. And poor Vohrenlorf is waiting all this while for me."
"Go, then. You may kiss me though."
I bent down and kissed her.
"Your lips are very hot," she said. "Yet you look cool enough."
"I am even rather cold. I must walk home briskly. Good-night."
"You'll make it up with poor Wetter?"
"Indeed our difference is over, or all but over."
"Good. I hate my friends to quarrel seriously. As for a little, it's amusing enough."
With that she let me go. The last I saw of her was as she ran hastily across the room, slammed down the window, and drew the curtain across it. She was afraid of hearing more of those voices of the night that frightened her. I thought with a smile that candles would burn about her bed till she woke to rejoice in the sun's new birth. Ah, well, I myself do not love a blank darkness.
Vohrenlorf and I walked home together. We entered by the gardens, the sentry saluting us and opening the gate. There was the Pavilion rising behind my apartments, a long, high, glass-roofed building. The sight of it recalled my thought from Coralie to the work of the morning. I nodded my head toward the building and said to Vohrenlorf:
"There's our rendezvous."
He did not answer, but turned to me with his lips quivering.
"What's the matter, man?" I asked.
"For God's sake, sire, don't do it. Send him a message. You mustn't do it."
"My good Vohrenlorf, you are mad," said I.
Yet not Vohrenlorf was mad, but I, mad with the vision of my two phantoms—freedom and pleasure.
I was in the Garden Pavilion only the other morning with one of my sons, teaching him how to use his weapons. Suddenly he pointed at a bullet-mark not in any of the targets, but in the wainscoting above and a little to the right of them.
"There's a bad shot, father!" he cried.
"But you don't know what he aimed at," I objected.
"At a target, of course!"
"But perhaps his target was differently placed. That shot is many years old."
"Anyhow he missed what he shot at, or he wouldn't have struck the wainscoting," the boy persisted.
"Why, yes, he missed, but he may have missed only by a hair's breadth."
"Do you know who fired the shot?"
"Yes. It's a strange story; perhaps you shall hear it some day."
This little scene recalled with vividness my memories of the morning when Wetter and I met in the Pavilion. I had hit on a good plan. I was known to practise often, and Wetter was given to the same pursuit. Indeed we had shot against one another in club matches before now, and come off very equal.It was not likely that suspicion would be aroused; the very early hour was our vulnerable point, but this could not be helped. Had we come later, we should have been pestered by attendants and markers. In other respects the ordinary arrangements for matches suited our purpose well. There was a target at either end of the Pavilion; each man chose an end to fire from. When he had discharged his bullet he retreated to a little shelter, of which there were two at each end, one for the shooter, one for the marker. His opponent then did the like. To account for what was meant to occur this morning we had only to make it believed that one of us, Wetter or I, as chance willed, had incautiously stepped out of his shelter at the wrong time. To render this plausible we agreed to pretend a misunderstanding; the man hit was to have thought that his opponent would fire only one shot, the man who escaped would express deepest regret, but maintain that the arrangement had been for two successive shots. I had very little doubt that these arrangements for baffling inconvenient inquiry would prove thoroughly adequate. For the rest, I made up a packet for Varvilliers containing a present for Coralie. To make any other preparations would not have been fair to Wetter; for my death, if it happened, must seem absolutely accidental. After all I did not feel such confidence in my value to the country, or in my wisdom, as to desire to leave my last will and testament. Victoria would do very well, no doubt. It was odd to think of her sleeping peacefully in the opposite wing, without an idea that anything touching her fortunes was being done in the Garden Pavilion.
The external scene is clearer to me than the picture of my own mind; yet there also I can trace the main outlines. The heat of passion was past; I was no longer in the stir of rivalry. I knew that it was through and because of Coralie that I had come into this position, and that Wetter had done what he had. But the thought of her, and the desire to conquer him in her favour or punish him for seeking it, were no more my foremost impulses. I can claim no feeling so natural, so instinctive, so pardonable because so natural. I was angry with him. I had waived my rank and set aside my state; that still I was eager and glad to do; but I waived them and forgot them, because only thus could I avenge them. By his challenge, his insult, his defiance, he had violated what I held sacred in me, and almost the only thing that I held sacred. I hear now the Englishman's mocking epithet in my ears—"Mediæval!" I did not hear it then. Wetter had insulted the King; the King would cease to be the King to punish him. I had this cool anger in my heart when I went with Vohrenlorf to the Pavilion at six in the morning. But half the bitterness of it was due to my own inmost knowledge that my acts had led him on; that, if he had committed the sacrilege, my hand had flung open the doors of the shrine. He had defaced the image; it was I who had taught him no more to reverence it. Because he reminded me of this, I thought that I hated him, as we took our way to the Pavilion.
Men who have been through many of these affairs have told me that on the first occasion they felt some fear, or, at least, an excitement so great as to seem like fear. I recollect no such feeling. This was not because I was especially courageous or more indifferent to death than other men; it did not occur to methat I should be killed or even hit. Coralie had a strong presentiment of evil for some one; I had none for myself. If she were right, it seemed to me that Wetter's fate must prove her so.
The other pair came punctually. They had encountered some slight obstacle in entering. The sentry had been seized with scruples, and the officer of the guard had been summoned. Varvilliers pleaded an express appointment with me, and the officer, surprised but conquered, had let them pass. All this Varvilliers told us in his usual airy manner, Wetter sitting apart the while. The clock struck a quarter past six.
"We waste time, Vicomte," said I, and I sat down in a chair, leaving him to make the arrangements with Vohrenlorf, or, rather, to announce them to Vohrenlorf; for my second was unmanned by the business, and had quite lost his composure.
Varvilliers had just measured the distance and settled the places where we were to stand, when there was a step outside and a knock at the door. The seconds looked round. Wetter sprang to his feet.
"Open it, Vohrenlorf. We're doing nothing secret," I said, with a smile.
Varvilliers nodded approvingly.
"But our visitor mustn't stay long," he observed.
"It's one of my privileges to send people away," said I reassuringly.
The door opened, and in walked William Adolphus! He was in riding boots and carried a whip. It was his custom to rise early for a gallop in the park; he must have heard our voices as he passed by.
"You're early," he cried in boisterous merriment. "What's afoot?"
"Why, a wager between Wetter and myself," I answered. "A match."
"What for?"
"Upon my word, we haven't fixed the stakes; it's pure rivalry." Then I began to laugh. "How odd you should come!" I said. Indeed it seemed strange, for, if the whole affair were traced back to the egg, William Adolphus' flirtation was the origin of it. His appearance had the appropriateness of an ironically witty comment on some hot-headed folly.
"I've half a mind to stay and see you shoot."
"By no means; you'd make me nervous."
"I'll bet a hundred marks on Wetter."
"I take you there," said I. "But I hear your horse being walked up and down outside."
"Yes, he's there."
"It's a chilly morning. Don't keep him waiting. Vohrenlorf, see the Prince mounted."
Varvilliers laughed; even Wetter smiled.
"All right, you needn't be in such a hurry. I'm going," said William Adolphus.
"But I'm glad you came," said I, laughing again, and, as the door closed behind him, I added, "Most lucky! His evidence will be invaluable. Fortune is with us, Varvilliers."
"A man of ready wit is with us, sire," he answered in his pleasant courtliness; then, as we heard William Adolphus trotting off and Vohrenlorf came back, he went on, "All is ready."
Wetter seemed absolutely composed. I marvelled at his composure. No doubt his ideas were not mediæval, as mine were; yet it seemed strange to me that he should fire at me as he would at any other man. I did not then understand the despair which underlay his iron quietness. I was set thinking,though, the next moment, when Varvilliers stepped forward holding a pair of single-barrelled pistols, Wetter opened his lips for the first time:
"Why not revolvers?"
"If we allow a second shot, Vohrenlorf and I will reload. Pardon, sire, have you any other weapon about you?"
I answered "No," and Wetter made the same reply to a like question. But I had seen a sudden change pass over his face when he was told that revolvers were not to be used. An idea entered my head and would not be dislodged; a man might fire more calmly at the King if he were resolved in no case to outlive the King. I said nothing; what could I say or do now? But strangely and suddenly, under the influence of this thought, my anger died away. I saw with his eyes and felt with his heart; I saw how he stood, and I knew that I had brought him to that pass. Was it strange that he fired at me without faltering, although I might be ten times a king? It seemed to me almost just that he should kill me. Varvilliers would not give him a revolver. Did Varvilliers also suspect? I think his fear was rather of our extreme rage against one another. It occurred to me that I would not aim at my opponent. But then I thought I had no right to act thus; it would make matters worse for him if I fell. Besides my own life did not seem to me a thing to be thrown away lightly.
Varvilliers produced another pair of pistols, similar to those which Wetter and I now held. He loaded both, fired them into the targets, and placed one on a shelf at either end of the room.
"Those are the first shots. You understand? The gentleman who is hit made the mistake of notexpecting a second shot. Now, sire—if you are ready?"
We took up our positions, each six feet in front of the targets; a bullet which hit me would, but for the interruption, have struck on, or directly above or below, the outermost target on the right-hand side.
Vohrenlorf and Varvilliers stood on either side of the room; the latter was to give the signal. Indeed Vohrenlorf could not have been trusted with such a duty.
"I shall say fire, one—two—three," said Varvilliers. "You will both fire before the last word is ended. Are you ready?"
We signified our assent. Wetter was pale, but apparently quite collected. I was very much alive to every impression. For example, I noticed a man's tread outside and the tune that he was whistling. I lifted my pistol and took aim. At that moment I meant to kill Wetter if I could, and I thought that I could. It did not even occur to me that I was in any serious danger myself.
"Are you ready? Now!" said Varvilliers, in his smooth distinct tones.
I looked straight into Wetter's eyes, and I did not doubt that I could send my bullet as straight as my glance. I felt that I saw before me a dead man.
I am unable to give even to myself any satisfactory explanation of my next act. It was done under an impulse so instantaneous, so single, so simply powerful as to defy analysis. I have the consciousness of one thought or feeling only; but even to myself it seems absurd and inadequate to account for what I did. Yet I can give no other reason. I hadno relenting toward Wetter as a man, as companion, or as former friend. I was not remorseful about my own part in the affair, and did not now accuse myself of being responsible for the quarrel. Suddenly—and I record the feeling for what it is worth—it came upon me that I must not kill him. Why? That Englishman would laugh. I am inclined to laugh myself. Well, I was only twenty-four, and, moreover, in a state of high tension, fresh from great emotional excitement and a sleepless night. Because he was one of my people, and great among them; because he might do great things for them; because he was one of those given to me, for whom I was answerable. I can get no nearer to it—it was something of that kind. Some conception of it may be gained if I say that I have never signed a death-warrant without a struggle against a somewhat similar feeling. Whatever it was, it resulted in an inability to try to kill him. As Varvilliers' voice pronounced in clear quiet tones "Fire!" I shifted my aim gently and imperceptibly. If it were true now, the ball would pass his ear and bury itself in the wainscoting behind.
"One—two—three!"
I fired on the last word; I saw the smoke of Wetter's pistol; he stood motionless. In an instant I felt myself hit. I was amazed. I was hit, shot through the body. I staggered, and should have fallen; Vohrenlorf ran to me, and I sank back in his arms. My head was clear, and I saw the order of events that followed. Varvilliers also had started toward me. Suddenly he stopped. Wetter had rushed across the room toward where the cartridges lay. Varvilliers sprang upon him and caught him resolutely by the shoulders. I myself cried, "Stophim!" even as I sank on the ground, my shoulders propped up against the wall. Before more could happen there was a loud rapping at the door, and the handle was twisted furiously. Somebody cried, "Go for a doctor!" Then came Varvilliers' voice, "You go, Wetter. We trust you to go. Who the devil's at the door?" He sprang across and opened it. Vohrenlorf was asking me in trembling whispers where I was hit. I paid no heed to him. The door opened, and to my amazement William Adolphus ran in, closely followed by Coralie Mansoni. I was past speaking, soon I became past consciousness. The last I remember is that Coralie was kneeling by me, Vohrenlorf still supporting me, the rest standing round. Yet, though I did not know it, I spoke. Varvilliers told me afterward that I muttered, "An accident—my fault." I heard what they said, though I was unconscious of speaking myself.
"It wasn't!" Coralie cried.
"On my honour, a pure accident," said Varvilliers.
Then the whole scene faded away from me.