Achille Cazaio!'
'I deplore the circumstance that I am not overwhelmed by the revelation,' John Bulmer said, as he dismounted, 'and I entreat you to bear in mind, friend Achille, that in Poictesme I am a stranger. And, unhappily, the names of many estimable persons have not an international celebrity.' Thus speaking, he drew and placed himself on guard.
With a shrug the Friar turned and reseated himself upon the stone. He appeared a sensible man. But Cazaio flashed out a long sword and hurled himself upon John Bulmer.
Cazaio thus obtained a butcherly thrust in the shoulder, 'Friend Achille,' said John Bulmer, 'that was tolerably severe for a first hit. Does it content you?'
The hairy man raged. 'Eh, my God!' Cazaio shrieked, 'do you mock me, you misbegotten one! Before you can give me such another I shall have settled you outright. Already hell gapes for you. Fool, I am Achille Cazaio!'
'Yes, yes, you had mentioned that,' said his opponent. 'And, in return, allow me to present Mr. John Bulmer, thoroughly enjoying himself for the first time in a quarter of a century, Angelo taught me this thrust. Can you parry it, friend Achille?' Mr. Bulmer cut open the other's forehead.
'Well done!' Cazaio grunted. He attacked with renewed fury, but now the blood was streaming down his face and into his eyes in such a manner that he was momentarily compelled to carry his hand toward his countenance in order to wipe away the heavy trickle. John Bulmer lowered his point.
'Friend Achille, it is not reasonable I should continue our engagement to its denouement, since by that boastful parade of skill I have inadvertently turned you into a blind man. Can you not stanch your wound sufficiently to make possible a renewal of our exercise on somewhat more equal terms?'
'Not now,' the other replied, breathing heavily,—'not now, Monsieur Bulmaire. You have conquered, and the woman is yours. Yet lend me my life for a little till I may meet you more equitably. I will not fail you,—I swear it—I, Achille Cazaio.'
'Why, God bless my soul!' said John Bulmer, 'do you imagine that I am forming a collection of vagrant females? Permit me, pray, to assist you to your horse. And if you would so far honor me as to accept the temporary loan of my handkerchief—'
Solicitously Mr. Bulmer bound up his opponent's head, and more lately aided him to mount one of the grazing horses. Cazaio was moved to say:
'You are a gallant enemy, Monsieur Bulmaire. I shall have the pleasure of cutting your throat on Thursday next, if that date be convenient to you.'
'Believe me,' said John Bulmer, 'I am always at your disposal. Let this spot, then, be our rendezvous, since I am wofully ignorant concerning your local geography. And meantime, my friend, if I may be so bold, I would suggest a little practice in parrying. You are of Boisrobert's school, I note, and in attack undeniably brilliant, whereas your defence—unvarying defect of Boisrobert's followers!—is lamentably weak.'
'I perceive that monsieur is a connoisseur in these matters,' said Cazaio; 'I am the more highly honored. Till Thursday, then.' And with an inclination of his bandaged head—and a furtive glance toward the insensate woman, —he rode away singing.
Sang Achille Cazaio:
Thus singing, he disappeared; meantime John Bulmer had turned toward the woman. The Dominican sat upon the stone, placidly grinning.
'And now,' said John Bulmer, 'we revert to the origin of all this tomfoolery,—who, true to every instinct of her sex, has caused as much trouble as lay within her power and then fainted. A little water from the brook, if you will be so good. Master Friar,—Hey!—why, you damned rascal!'
As John Bulmer bent above the woman, the Friar had stabbed John Bulmer between the shoulders. The dagger broke like glass.
'Oh, the devil!' said the churchman; 'what sort of a duellist is this who fights in a shirt of Milanese armor!' He stood for a moment, silent, in sincere horror. 'I lack words,' he said,—'Oh, vile coward! I lack words to arraign this hideous revelation! There is a code of honor that obtains all over the world, and any duellist who descends to secret armor is, as you are perfectly aware, guilty of supersticery. He is no fit associate for gentlemen, he is rather the appropriate companion of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram in their fiery pit. Faugh, you sneak-thief!'
John Bulmer was a thought abashed, and for an instant showed it. Then, 'Permit me,' he equably replied, 'to point out that I did not come hither with any belligerent intent. My undershirt, therefore, I was entitled to regard as a purely natural advantage,—as much so as would have been a greater length of arm, which, you conceive, does not obligate a gentleman to cut off his fingers before he fights.'
'I scent the casuist,' said the Friar, shaking his head. 'Frankly, you had hoodwinked me: I was admiring you as a second Palmerin; and all the while you were letting off those gasconades, adopting those heroic postures, and exhibiting such romantic magnanimity, you were actually as safe from poor Cazaio as though you had been in Crim Tartary rather than Acaire!'
'But the pose was magnificent,' John Bulmer pleaded, 'and I have a leaning that way when one loses nothing by it. Besides, I consider secret armor to be no more than a rational precaution in any country where the clergy are addicted to casual assassination.'
'It is human to err,' the Friar replied, 'and Cazaio would have given me a thousand crowns for your head. Believe me, the man is meditating some horrible mischief against you, for otherwise he would not have been so damnably polite.'
'The information is distressing,' said John Bulmer; and added, 'This Cazaio appears to be a personage?'
'I retort,' said the Friar, 'that your ignorance is even more remarkable than my news. Achille Cazaio is the bugbear of all Poictesme, he is as powerful in these parts as ever old Manuel was.'
'But I have never heard of this old Manuel either—'
'In fact, your ignorance seems limitless. For any child could tell you that Cazaio roosts in the Taunenfels yonder, with some hundreds of brigands in his company. Poictesme is, in effect, his pocket-book, from which he takes whatever he has need of, and the Duc de Puysange, our nominal lord, pays him an annual tribute to respect Bellegarde.'
'This appears to be an unusual country,' quoth John Bulmer; 'where a brigand rules, and the forests are infested by homicidal clergymen and harassed females. Which reminds me that I have been guilty of an act of ungallantry,—and faith! while you and I have been chatting, the lady, with a rare discretion, has peacefully come back to her senses.'
'She has regained nothing very valuable,' said the Friar, with a shrug, 'Alone in Acaire!' But John Bulmer had assisted the woman to her feet, and had given a little cry at sight of her face, and now he stood quite motionless, holding both her unfettered hands.
'You!' he said. And when speech returned to him, after a lengthy interval, he spoke with odd irrelevance. 'Now I appear to understand why God created me.'
He was puzzled. For there had come to him, unheralded and simply, a sense of something infinitely greater than his mind could conceive; and analysis might only pluck at it, impotently, as a wearied swimmer might pluck at the sides of a well. Ormskirk and Ormskirk's powers now somehow dwindled from the zone of serious consideration,
