“Oh, heavens!” cried Cleone.
“Ye may well say so, my dear! Now, wait a while—the joke’s against me, I confess, but I had to tell you—‘The cause whereof, it is rumoured, is some lady whom both are enamoured of, some French wench, I think.’ ”
Cleone was rigid. Her fingers tightened unconsciously on Sir Maurice’s arm.
“ ‘Jettan being a great favourite among the young sparks here, they all, having got wind of the affair, combined among themselves, laying wagers about the fight, the most of the money being laid on Jettan, as I hear. Then to bait him, or whatnot, they conspired to be present at the meeting despite Jettan’s protests. The Marquis laughed mightily here, and said that Jettan threatened to read them an ode should they appear, which he seemed to find vastly entertaining on account of some joke or other concerning Jettan’s poetry.’ ”
“Philip’s poetry? …” said Sir Maurice faintly. “Proceed, Bancroft.”
“Ay, wait a bit! Here we are: ‘The Marquis was going to be present, having heard of the rumour, and swore to take me along with him. The which I did consent to, as you may imagine. Well, we came out to Neuilly in due course at half-after eight one morning, and mighty cold it was, but that’s neither here nor there. There we found a fair gathering of young rakes with their horses or chariots, some half dozen in all, laying wagers and all mightily amused. And, stap me, if there was not a fiddler scraping away as if his life depended on it. Soon after we were come, up drives a coach and out jumps three men, the first in great disorder at finding so many there assembled. This was Jettan, and prodigious elegant and finicky he was, too, all patched and painted, and tricked up in velvets and silks and I don’t know what. He fell into a great rage, though he was laughing half the time, and, indeed, ’twas a ridiculous situation, and he could scarce help but to be tickled by it. He turns to his seconds and rates them, but they were too amused to do aught but to hold their sides. Then young Jettan orders us all off and especially begs the Marquis to exert his influence, which he would not do. Then Jettan appealed to us to withdraw, whereat they were all the more entertained, and adjured him to se taire, as they call it, calling him petit Philippe and the like. Then Jettan started to laugh himself and pulls out a roll of parchment from his pocket, and was for declaiming some ode he had writ, but that three of them took it from him. Then he says, “At least, send that damned fiddler away!” and they replied, “All in good time,” but ’twas himself had asked for him. Before he could say more, which he was about to do, up comes another coach, and out gets your boy, Henry, and his seconds. When they saw what was toward they were mightily put out, as you may imagine, and, indeed, Henry was white and purple with rage, saying this was an insult and he was not to be so mocked, and the like. His seconds spoke apart with young Jettan’s, and I give you my word, they were dancing with fury, at least one was, but the little one seemed more entertained. Then up comes Jettan, very solemn and dignified, and bows to Henry. “I ask you to believe, moosoo,” says he, “that this is none of my designing. I desire,” says he, “to offer you my apologies for my friends’ ill-timed pleasantry.” Henry could scarce mouth forth a word, so enraged was he, and was for retiring at once, saying that he had borne much, but this was too much. The fiddler was ordered to stop his scraping now, and the onlookers all vowed they had come with serious intent to watch the fight, and would not go until they had done so. Jettan offers to meet Henry another day, when and where he will, but I could see Henry was burning to run him through. “Since we are here,” says he, “let us go on with it. I await your convenience,” he says, and, “I thank you,” replies Jettan and stands back. Henry’s seconds were all for retiring, but he’d have none of it, and bids them go to and choose the ground. At last all was prepared, and the two stripped off their coats and vests. Everyone was becomingly sober now, and, indeed, mighty anxious for young Jettan, who is the smaller of the two, and Henry looking murder as he was. Henry fought devilish hard, and, indeed, is a cunning fencer, as you no doubt apprehend, but young Jettan was like a bit of quicksilver, in and out with his sword most finicky and dainty. Soon we saw that Henry was no match for him at all, and, indeed, could have been run through the body a score of times, Jettan playing with him very pretty to see, but I was sore distressed to see Henry so put to it. He gave Jettan but the faintest scratch, and before we knew what was to do, there was Henry reeling back and his sword on the ground. At which Jettan bows very polite, and but a mite out of breath, and picks up the sword and hands it to Henry. Henry was for continuing, and a brave lad he is, but the seconds would have none of it, and ’twas all over. “I trust you are satisfied, sir?” says Jettan. “Satisfied be damned!” pants Henry, clutching at his shoulder. “Of the other matter between us,” says Jettan, “I can only counsel you to remember, for I meant what I said.” Then he walks off and
