CHAPTER L.
THE DUEL AT BELLEVUE.
We drove straight to Dalrymple's rooms, and, going in with a pass-key,went up without disturbing the _concierge_. Arrived at home, my friend'sfirst act was to open his buffetier and take out a loaf, a _pate de foiegras_, and a bottle of wine. I could not eat a morsel; but he supped (orbreakfasted) with a capital appetite; insisted that I should lie down onhis bed for two or three hours; and slipping into his dressing-gown,took out his desk and cash-box, and settled himself to a regularmorning's work.
"I hope to get a nap myself before starting," said he. "I have not manydebts, and I made my will the day after I married--so I have but littleto transact in the way of business. A few letters to write--a few toburn--a trifle or two to seal up and direct to one or two fellows whomay like a _souvenir_,--that is the extent of my task! Meanwhile, mydear boy, get what rest you can. It will never do to be shaky and paleon the field, you know."
I went, believing that I should be less in his way; and, lying down inmy clothes, fell into a heavy sleep, from which, after what seemed along time, I woke suddenly with the conviction that it was just teno'clock. To start up, look at my watch, find that it was only a quarterto seven and fall profoundly asleep again, was the work of only a fewminutes. At the end of another half-hour I woke with the same dread, andwith the same result; and so on twice or thrice after, till at aquarter to nine I jumped up, plunged my head into a basin of cold water,and went back to the sitting-room.
I found him lying forward upon the table, fast asleep, with his headresting on his hands. Some half-dozen letters lay folded and addressedbeside him--one directed to his wife. A little pile of burnt paperfluttered on the hearth. His pistols were lying close by in theirmahogany case, the blue and white steel relieved against thecrimson-velvet lining. He slept so soundly, poor fellow, that I couldwith difficulty make up my mind to wake him. Once roused, however, hewas alert and ready in a moment, changed his coat, took out a new pairof lavender gloves, hailed a cab from the window, and bade the drivername his own fare if he got us to the terrace at Bellevue by fiveminutes before ten.
"I always like to be before my time in a matter of this kind, Damon,"said he. "It's shabby to be merely punctual when one has, perhaps, notmore than a quarter of an hour to live. By-the-by, here are my keys.Take them, in case of accident. You will find a copy of my will in mydesk---the original is with my lawyer. The letters you will forward,according to the addresses; and in my cash-box you will find a paperdirected to yourself."
I bent my head. I would not trust myself to speak. "As for the letter toHelene--to my wife," he said, turning his face away, "will you--will youdeliver that with your own hands?"
"I will."
"I--I have had but little time to write it," he faltered, "and I trustto you to supply the details. Tell her how I made the quarrel, and howit ended. No one suspects it to be other than a _fracas_ over a game at_ecarte_. No one supposes that I had any other motive, or any deepervengeance--not even De Caylus! I have not compromised her by word ordeed. If I shoot him, I free her without a breath of scandal. IfI fall--"
His voice failed, and we were both silent for some moments
We were now past the Barrier, and speeding on rapidly towards the opencountry. High white houses with jalousies closed against the sun, andpretty maisonnettes in formal gardens, succeeded the streets and shopsof suburban Paris. Then came a long country road bordered bypoplars--by-and-by, glimpses of the Seine, and scattered farms andvillages far away--then Sevres and the leafy heights of Bellevueoverhanging the river.
We crossed the bridge, and the driver, mindful of his fare, urged on histired horse. Some country folks met us presently, and a wagoner with aload of fresh hay. They all smiled and gave us "good-day" as wepassed--they going to their work in the fields, and we to our work ofbloodshed!
Shortly after this, the road began winding upwards, past the porcelainfactories and through the village of Sevres; after which, having but ashort distance of very steep road to climb, we desired the cabman towait, and went up on foot. Arrived at the top, where a peep of bluedaylight came streaming down upon us through a green tunnel of acacias,we emerged all at once upon the terrace, and found ourselves first onthe field. Behind us rose a hillside of woods--before us, glassy andglittering, as if traced upon the transparent air, lay the city ofpalaces. Domes and spires, arches and columns of triumph, softened bydistance, looked as if built of the sunshine. Far away on one sidestretched the Bois de Boulogne, undulating like a sea of tender green.Still farther away on the other, lay Pere-la-Chaise--a dark hill speckedwith white; cypresses and tombs. At our feet, winding round a "lawnyislet" and through a valley luxuriant in corn-fields and meadows, flowedthe broad river, bluer than the sky.
"A fine sight, Damon!" said Dalrymple, leaning on the parapet, andcoolly lighting a cigar. "If my eyes are never to open on the day again,I am glad they should have rested for the last time on a scene of somuch beauty! Where is the painter who could paint it? Not Claudehimself, though he should come back to life on purpose, and mix hiscolors with liquid sunlight!"
"You are a queer fellow," said I, "to talk of scenery and painters atsuch a moment!"
"Not at all. Things are precious according to the tenure by which wehold them. For my part, I do not know when I appreciated earth and skyso heartily as this morning. _Tiens!_ here comes a carriage--our men,no doubt."
"Are you a good shot?" I asked anxiously.
"Pretty well. I can write my initials in bullet-holes on a sheet ofnotepaper at forty paces, or toss up half-a-crown as I ride at fullgallop, and let the daylight through it as it comes down."
"Thank Heaven!"
"Not so fast, my boy. De Caylus is just as fine a shot, and one of themost skilful swordsmen in the French service."
"Ay, but the first fire is yours!"
"Is it? Well, I suppose it is. He struck the first blow, and so--herethey come."
"One more word, Dalrymple--did he really cheat you at _ecarte?_"
"Upon my soul, I don't know. He did hold the king very often, and thereare some queer stories told of him in Vienna by the officers of theEmperor's Guard. At all events, this is not the first duel he has had tofight in defence of his good-fortune!"
De Simoncourt now coming forward, we adjourned at once to the woodbehind the village. A little open glade was soon found; the ground wassoon measured; the pistols were soon loaded. De Caylus looked horriblypale, but it was the pallor of concentrated rage, with nothing of thecraven hue in it. Dalrymple, on the contrary, had neither more nor lesscolor than usual, and puffed away at his cigar with as much indifferenceas if he were waiting his turn at the pit of the Comedie Francaise. Bothwere clothed in black from head to foot, with their coats buttonedto the chin.
"All is ready," said De Simoncourt. "Gentlemen, choose your weapons."
De Caylus took his pistols one by one, weighed and poised them,examined the priming, and finally, after much hesitation, decided.
Dalrymple took the first that came to hand.
The combatants then took their places--De Caylus with his hat pulled lowover his eyes; Dalrymple still smoking carelessly.
They exchanged bows.
"Major Dalrymple," said De Simoncourt, "it is for you to fire first."
"God bless you, Damon!" said my friend, shaking me warmly by the hand.
He then half turned aside, flung away the end of his cigar, lifted hisright arm suddenly, and fired.
I heard the dull thud of the ball--I saw De Caylus fling up his arms andfall forward on the grass. I saw Dalrymple running to his assistance.The next instant, however, the wounded man was on his knees, ghastly andbleeding, and crying for his pistol.
"Give it me!" he gasped--"hold me up! I--I will have his life yet! So,steady--steady!"
Shuddering, but not for his own danger, Dalrymple stepped calmly back tohis place; while De Caylus, supported by his second, struggled to hisfeet and grasped his weapon. For a moment he once more stood upright.His eye
burned; his lips contracted; he seemed to gather up all hisstrength for one last effort. Slowly, steadily, surely, he raised hispistol--then swaying heavily back, fired, and fell again.
"Dead this time, sure enough," said De Simoncourt, bending over him.
"Indeed, I fear so," replied Dalrymple, in a low, grave voice. "Can wedo nothing to help you, Monsieur de Simoncourt?"
"Nothing, thank you. I have a carriage down the road, and must getfurther assistance from the village. You had better lose no time inleaving Paris."
"I suppose not. Good-morning."
"Good-morning,"
So we lifted our hats; gathered up the pistols; hurried out of the woodand across a field, so avoiding the village; found our cab waiting wherewe had left it; and in less than five minutes, were rattling down thedusty hill again and hurrying towards Paris.
Once in the cab, Dalrymple began hastily pulling off his coat andwaistcoat. I was startled to see his shirt-front stained with blood.
"Heavens!" I exclaimed, "you are not wounded?"
"Very slightly. De Caylus was too good a shot to miss me altogether.Pshaw! 'tis nothing--a mere graze--not even the bullet left in it!"
"If it had been a little more to the left...." I faltered.
"If he had fired one second sooner, or lived one second longer, he wouldhave had me through the heart, as sure as there's a heaven above us!"said Dalrymple.
Then, suddenly changing his tone, he added, laughingly--
"Nonsense, Damon! cheer up, and help me to tear this handkerchief intobandages. Now's the time to show off your surgery, my little AEsculapius.By Jupiter, life's a capital thing, after all!"
* * * * *