The ocean sighs it back—and with the murmur1
Bustle the happy leaves.
All nature breathes
Aloud—-aloft—to the Great Parent’s ear,
The blessing2 of the mother on her child.
ON approaching the fisherman’s hut, the place appointed with Lectoure, Paul perceived Lusignan and Walter, who were waiting for him.
Precisely4 at the hour agreed, Lectoure appeared on horseback; he had been obliged to find his way as he best could, for he had no guide, and his own servant was as much a stranger as himself in that part of the country. On seeing him at a distance the young men came out of the hut. The baron5 instantly put his horse into a gallop6, to hasten to them. When within a few paces of them he alighted from his horse, and threw the rein7 to his servant.
“I trust you will pardon me, gentlemen,” said he, “that I should have approached you thus alone, like a forsaken8 orphan9; but the hour selected by that gentleman,” he added, raising his hat to Paul, who returned the salutation, “was precisely that fixed10 upon for the funeral obsequies of the marquis; I have therefore left Emanuel to fulfil the duties of a son, and have come here without a second, trusting that I had to deal with an adversary11 generous enough to procure12 some friend of his own to aid me in this dilemma13.”
“We are entirely14 at your service, baron,” replied Paul; “here are two friends of mine. select which you please, and he who shall be honored by your choice, will instantly become yours.”
“I have no preference, I swear to you,” said Lectoure; “please to designate which of these two gentlemen you may desire should reader me this service.”
“Walter,” said Paul, “be so good as to officiate as second to the baron.”
The lieutenant15 assented17; the two adversaries18 again bowed to each other.
“And now, sir,” continued Paul, “permit me, before our respective seconds, to address a few words to you, not of apology, but explanation.”
“At your own pleasure, sir, replied Lectoure.
“When I uttered the words which have been the cause of your coming hither, the events which have since occurred at the castle were hidden in the womb of time, and these events might have entailed19 the misery20 of a whole family. You, sir, had on your side Madame d’Auray, Emanuel, and the Marquis—Marguerite had but me alone. Every chance was, therefore, in your favor. It was for this reason that I addressed myself directly to you, for had I fallen by your hand from circumstances which must for ever remain hidden to you, Marguerite could not have married you. If I had killed you, the case would have been still more simplified, and requires no commentary.
“This exordium is really most logical, sir,” replied the baron, smiling, and tapping his boots with his riding-whip; “let us proceed, if you please, to the main body of the discourse21.” |
“Now,” continued Paul, bowing in sign of acquiescence22, “every circumstance has changed; the marquis is dead, Emanuel has received his commission, the marchioness renounces23 your alliance, honorable as it may be, and Marguerite marries the Baron Anatole de Lusignan, who, for that reason, I did not name your second.”
“Ah! ah!” exclaimed Lectoure, “then that is the true meaning of the note which a servant delivered to me at the moment I was about to leave the castle. I had the simplicity24 to imagine that it was merely an adjournment25. It appears that it was a dismissal in due form. ‘Tis well, sir, and now to the peroration26.”
“It will be as simple and frank as the explanation, sir. I did not know you—I had no desire to know you; chance threw us in presence of each other, and with opposing interests—hence our collision. Then, as I have before told you, mistrusting fate, I wished in some measure to make sure of a result. But now affairs have become so altered that either my death or yours would be altogether useless, and would merely add bloodshed to the winding27 up of this drama; and tell me candidly28, sir, do you thank it would be worth while to risk our lives to so little purpose?”
“I might, perhaps, agree with you in opinion, sir, had I not performed so long a journey,” replied Lectoure: “Not having the honor to espouse29 Mademoiselle Marguerite d’Auray, I should desire, at least, to have the honor of crossing swords with you. It shall not be said that I have travelled all the way from Paris into Brittany for nothing. I am at your orders, sir,” continued Lectoure, drawing his sword, and with it saluting30 his adversary.
“At your good pleasure, sir,” replied Paul, and replying to the salutation in the same manner.
The two young men then advanced towards each other—their swords crossed—at the third parry Lectoure’s sword was twisted from his hand, and flew to a distance of twenty yards.
“Before taking sword in hand,” said Paul, “I had offered an explanation, and now, sir, I trust you will be pleased to accept my apology.”
“And this time I will accept it, sir,” said Lectoure, in the same careless and easy manner, as if nothing particular had occurred. “Pick up my sword, Dick.”
His servant ran to fetch it, handed it to his master, who very tranquilly31 put it into the scabbard.
“Now,” continued he, “if either of you, gentlemen, have any orders for Paris, I am about to return there, and from this spot.”
“Tell the king, sir,” replied Paul, bowing, and in his turn sheathing33 his sword, “that I feel happy that the sword he gave me to be employed against the English, has remained unstained by the blood of one of my own countrymen.”
And then the two young men again bowed to each other. Lectoure remounted his horse, and at about a hundred paces from the sea shore, got into the high road leading to Vannes, and galloped34 off; while his servant went to the castle to get his travelling carriage, with which Lectoure had ordered him to rejoin him speedily.
“And now, Mr. Walter,” said Paul, “you must send the long-boat to the nearest
Join or Log In!
You need to log in to continue reading