“Why the devil need you speak of the police to Colonel Bridau?” asked Maxence Gilet insolently.
“Major Potel meant no harm on his part,” said Philippe, with a bitter smile. The silence was so complete that a fly would have been heard if there had been any.
“The police is sufficiently afraid of me,” said Philippe, “to have sent me to Issoudun, a place where I have had the good luck to find a few of the right old sort. But it must be confessed that there is not much amusement to be found here. For a man who was not averse to the ladies I have come off but badly. However, I will save my money for the pretty dears—for I am not one of the men who find their fortune in a featherbed, and Mariette of the opera-house cost me no end of money.”
“Is it for my benefit that you say that, my dear Colonel?” said Max, firing a glance like an electric shock at Philippe.
“If the cap fits, Major Gilet.”
“Colonel, my two friends here, Renard and Potel, will call tomorrow morning—”
“On Mignonnet and Carpentier,” interrupted Philippe, waving his hand to his two neighbors.
“Now,” said Max, “go on with the toasts.”
Neither of the antagonists had raised his voice above the ordinary tone of conversation; nothing was solemn but the silence in which they were heard.
“Look here, you fellows,” said Philippe, looking at the privates, “remember, our affairs are no concern of the townfolks!—Not a word of what has just been said; it must remain a secret with the old Guard.”
“They will obey orders, Colonel,” said Renard; “I will answer for them.”
“Long live the youngster! May he reign in France!” cried Potel.
“Death to the Englishman!” added Carpentier, and this toast was enthusiastically drunk.
“Shame on Hudson Lowe!” said Captain Renard.
The dessert went off very well, with ample libations. The two antagonists regarded it as a point of honor that this duel, in which an immense fortune was at stake, while the combatants were both men so noted for their courage, should have no feature in common with a vulgar quarrel. Two gentlemen, in the best sense, could not have behaved better than Max and Philippe. The expectations of the young men and townspeople who had gathered on the marketplace were disappointed.
All the guests, as brother-soldiers, kept the secret of the episode at dessert. At ten o’clock the two principals were informed that the sword was the weapon decided on. The spot selected for the meeting was behind the apse of the Capucin chapel, at eight next morning. Goddet, who had been present at the dinner, having formerly served as surgeon-major, had been requested to attend. Whatever came of it, the seconds agreed that the fighting was not to last for more than ten minutes.
At eleven o’clock that night, to the Colonel’s great surprise just as he was going to bed. Monsieur Hochon brought his wife over to see him.
“We know what is happening,” said the old lady, her eye? full of tears, “and I have come to beseech you not to go out tomorrow morning without saying your prayers. Lift up your soul to God.”
“Yes, madame,” said Philippe, to whom old Hochon was signaling from behind his wife.
“That is not all,” said Agathe’s godmother; “I put myself in your poor mother’s place, and I have deprived myself of my most precious possession. Look here!” and she held out to Philippe a tooth fastened to a piece of black velvet embroidered with gold, to which two ends of green ribbon were sewn; after showing it to Philippe, she replaced it in a little bag. “It is a relic of Saint Solange, the patron saint of le Berry; I saved it at the time of the Revolution; wear it on your breast tomorrow.”
“Can it protect me against a sword-stroke?” asked Philippe.
“Yes,” replied the old lady.
“Then I can no more wear that paraphernalia that I could wear a breastplate,” cried Agathe’s son.
“What does he mean?” asked Madame Hochon of her husband.
“He says it is not fair play,” replied old Hochon.
“Very well; say no more about it,” said she. “I will pray for you.”
“Well, madame, a mouthful of prayers and a straight thrust can do no harm,” said the Colonel, making as though he would pierce Monsieur Hochon through the heart.
The old lady insisted on kissing Philippe on the forehead. Then, as she went out, she gave Benjamin ten crowns, all the money she had, to induce him to sew the relic into his master’s trousers-pocket. Which Benjamin did, not believing in the virtue of the bone—for his master, said he, had a much larger one to pick with Gilet—but because he was bound to fulfil a commission so handsomely paid for. Madame Hochon went home firmly trusting in Saint Solange.
At eight next morning, in overcast weather, Max, with his two seconds and Kouski, arrived on the little plot of grass which at that time surrounded the apse of the old Capucin church. There they found Philippe and his party with Benjamin. Potel and Mignonnet measured twenty-five paces. At each end of the line the two men marked a crease with a spade. Neither of the combatants could retreat beyond the mark under pain of cowardice; each man was to stand on his line, and advance as far as he pleased, when the seconds cried “Go!”
“Shall we take our coats off?” said Philippe coldly to Gilet.
“By all means, Colonel,” said Maxence, with the confidence of an old hand.
The two men kept on only their trousers, the flesh showing pink through their cambric shirts. Armed with cavalry swords, carefully chosen of the same weight—about three pounds, and the same length—three feet, the two men took their stand, their swords pointed downwards, awaiting the signal. Both were so calm, that in spite of the cold their muscles quivered no more than if they had been of bronze. Goddet, the four seconds, and the two soldiers felt an involuntary thrill.
“They are a fine
