Pride: One of the Seven Cardinal Sins. Эжен Сю
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a pity Olivier could not witness this scene!" thought Gerald, who had recovered from his astonishment, and who now began to regard the adventure as extremely piquant, the more so as he had very little sympathy for Messieurs Mornand and Ravil, and a very warm affection for the marquis.
But though the hunchback had made this open declaration of war, M. de Ravil turned to Gerald, and said, in a tone of profound conviction:
"You must feel that such a duel as this is entirely out of the question, M. le duc?"
"And why, monsieur?" inquired Gerald, dryly.
"Thanks, Gerald," exclaimed the marquis. "The swords, my friend, quick, the swords!"
"But think of permitting such an encounter in your mother's house! It must not be, M. le duc. Think of it, a duel, in a room in your house, and for the most trivial cause," insisted Ravil, as he saw Gerald walk to the panel and take down the swords.
"I consider myself the sole judge of the propriety of what occurs in my apartments," retorted Gerald. "There are numerous instances of similar duels, are there not, M. de Mornand?"
"Any place is suitable for avenging an affront, M. le duc," was the prompt and angry reply.
"Bravo! the Cid never made a better retort!" exclaimed the hunchback. "Come, my dear M. de Mornand, off with your coat! It is hardly fair that I, who am not exactly modelled after the Apollo Belvedere, should be the first to strip."
M. de Mornand, at his wit's end, pulled off his coat.
"I absolutely refuse to act as second in such a duel," shouted M. de Ravil.
"You can do as you please about that," responded the hunchback. "I have the key of the door in my pocket, but you can look out of the window, or beat a tattoo upon the pane, if you prefer. That little act of bravado might have a good effect on M. de Mornand, perhaps."
"De Ravil, measure the swords, I beg of you," cried the other principal in the affair.
"You insist?"
"I do."
"So be it—but you are mad."
Then, turning to Gerald, he added, "You are taking a great responsibility upon yourself, monsieur."
"That will do, monsieur," replied Gerald, coldly.
The proverb the marquis had quoted seemed a true one, for, when that gentleman rolled his shirt-sleeve up above his elbow, there was disclosed to view a long, thin, but sinewy arm, upon which the muscles stood out like whipcords, while his opponent's arm was plump and soft.
The outcome of the encounter was apparent from the manner in which the antagonists fell into position, and in which they crossed blades, when Gerald, after having exchanged glances with Ravil, gave the signal for the combat to begin.
Not that M. de Mornand evinced any signs of cowardice! On the contrary, he manifested the courage which any well-bred man is almost sure to display, but he was unmistakably nervous, and, though he showed a fair knowledge of fencing, his play was characterised by excessive prudence. He held himself out of reach as much as possible, and always upon the defensive, parrying his antagonist's thrusts skilfully enough, but never attacking.
For a single instant Ravil, and even Gerald, were terrified at the expression of ferocious hatred that overspread the features of the marquis when he confronted his adversary, but, suddenly recovering himself, he became the same gay, mocking cynic as at the beginning of this strange scene, and, as the look of sullen rage he had concentrated upon M. de Mornand softened, his thrusts became less violent and murderous, and, at last, wishing doubtless to end the affair, he made a feint. M. de Mornand responded ingenuously, whereupon his opponent, with a quick, upward thrust, ran his blade through his antagonist's right arm.
At the sight of blood, Gerald and Ravil both sprang forward, exclaiming:
"Enough, gentlemen, enough!"
Both men lowered their swords on hearing this exclamation, and the marquis said, in a clear voice:
"I declare myself satisfied; I will even humbly beg your pardon—for being a hunchback, M. de Mornand. It is the only excuse I can reasonably offer you."
"It is sufficient, monsieur," said M. de Mornand, with a bitter smile, while Gerald and De Ravil bound up the wounded arm with the aid of a handkerchief.
This done, the two men re-dressed themselves, after which M. de Maillefort said to M. de Mornand:
"Will you grant me the favour of a moment's conversation in another room?"
"I am at your service."
"Will you permit it, Gerald?"
"Certainly," replied the young duke.
The two gentlemen having stepped into Gerald's bedroom, the hunchback said, in his usual mocking way:
"Though it may be in very poor taste to speak of one's generosity, my dear sir, I am obliged to admit that for a minute or two I felt strongly inclined to kill you, and that it would have been a very easy matter for me to do it."
"You should have availed yourself of the opportunity, monsieur."
"But I reflected—"
"And with what object?"
"You will excuse me, I am sure, for not opening my whole heart to you, but permit me to beg that you will consider the slight wound you have just received merely an aid to memory."
"I do not understand you in the least, monsieur."
"You know, of course, that one often places a bit of paper in one's snuff-box, or ties a knot in the corner of one's handkerchief, to remind one of a rendezvous or a promise."
"Yes, monsieur; and what of it, may I ask?"
"I am strongly in hopes that the slight wound which I have just given you in the arm will serve as such an effectual reminder that the date of this little episode will never be effaced from your memory."
"And why are you so desirous that this date should be indelibly engraved upon my memory?"
"The explanation is very simple. I wish to fix the date in your memory in an ineffaceable manner—because it is quite possible that I shall some time have occasion to remind you of all you have said this afternoon."
"Remind me of all I have said this afternoon?"
"Yes, monsieur, and in the presence of irrefutable witnesses that I shall summon in case of need."
"I understand you less and less, monsieur."
"I see no particular advantage in your understanding me any better just at this time, my dear sir, so you must permit me to take leave of you, and go and bid my friend Gerald good-bye."
It is easy to comprehend that the real cause of M. de Maillefort's challenge to M. de Mornand was the insulting manner in which that gentleman had spoken of Madame de Beaumesnil, for the latter's suspicions were correct, and it was the hunchback who, unseen, had cried, "Scoundrel!" on hearing M. de Mornand's coarse words.
But why had M. de Maillefort, who was usually so frank and outspoken, taken this roundabout way to secure a pretext for avenging the insult offered to Madame de Beaumesnil? And what could be his object in wishing to remind M. de Mornand of this special day, and in perhaps calling him to account for all he had just said in the presence of reliable witnesses?
These questions will be satisfactorily answered as the story proceeds.
The Marquis de Maillefort had just bidden Gerald good-bye, when one of the servants brought the young duke the following letter, written by Olivier that same morning.
"My good Gerald:—'Man proposes and God disposes,'