Under the Red Robe by Stanley John Weyman (positive books to read txt) 📕

‘With pleasure!’ he blurted out. ‘To the devil, if you like!’

I thought the matter arranged, when the Marquis laid his hand on the young fellow’s arm and checked him.

‘This must not be,’ he said, turning from him to me with his grand, fine-gentleman’s air. ‘You know me, M. de Berault. This matter has gone far enough.’

‘Too far! M. de Pombal,’ I answered bitterly. ‘Still, if you wish to take your friend’s place, I shall raise no objection.’

‘Chut, man!’ he retorted, shrugging his shoulders negligently. ‘I know you, and I do not fight with men of your stamp. Nor need this gentleman.’

‘Undoubtedly,’ I replied, bowing low, ‘if he prefers to be caned in the streets.’

That stung the Marquis.

‘Have a care! have a care!’ he cried hotly. ‘You go too far, M. Berault.’

‘De Berault, if you please,’ I objected, eyeing him sternly. ‘My family has borne the DE as long as yours, M. de Pombal.’

He could not deny that, and he answered, ‘As you please;’ at the same time restraining his friend by a gesture. ‘But none the less,’ he continued, ‘take my advice. The Cardinal has forbidden duelling, and this time he means it! You have been in trouble once and gone free. A second time it may fare worse with you. Let this gentleman go, therefore, M. de Berault. Besides—why, shame upon you, man!’ he exclaimed hotly; ‘he is but a lad!’

Two or three who stood behind me applauded that, But I turned and they met my eye; and they were as mum as mice.

‘His age is his own concern,’ I said grimly. ‘He was old enough a while ago to insult me.’

‘And I will prove my words!’ the lad cried, exploding at last. He had spirit enough, and the Marquis had had hard work to restrain him so long. ‘You do me no service, M. de Pombal,’ he continued, pettishly shaking off his friend’s hand. ‘By your leave, this gentleman and I will settle this matter.’

‘That is better,’ I said, nodding drily, while the Marquis stood aside, frowning and baffled. ‘Permit me to lead the way.’

Zaton’s eating-house stands scarcely a hundred paces from St Jacques la Boucherie, and half the company went thither with us. The evening was wet, the light in the streets was waning, the streets themselves were dirty and slippery. There were few passers in the Rue St Antoine; and our party, which earlier in the day must have attracted notice and a crowd, crossed unmarked, and entered without interruption the paved triangle which lies immediately behind the church. I saw in the distance one of the Cardinal’s guard loitering in front of the scaffolding round the new Hotel Richelieu; and the sight of the uniform gave me pause for a moment. But it was too late to repent.

The Englishman began at once to strip off his clothes. I closed mine to the throat, for the air was chilly. At that moment, while we stood preparing, and most of the company seemed a little inclined to stand off from me, I felt a hand on my arm, and turning, saw the dwarfish tailor at whose house, in the Rue Savonnerie, I lodged at the time. The fellow’s presence was unwelcome, to say the least of it; and though for want of better company I had sometimes encouraged him to be free with me at home, I took that to be no reason why I should be plagued with him before gentlemen. I shook him off, therefore, hoping by a frown to silence him.

He was not to be so easily put down, however, and perforce I had to speak to him.

‘Afterwards, afterwards,’ I said hurriedly. ‘I am engaged now.

‘For God’s sake, don’t, sir!’ the poor fool cried, clinging to my sleeve. ‘Don’t do it! You will bring a curse on the house. He is but a lad, and—’

‘You, too!’ I exclaimed, losing patience. ‘Be silent, you scum! What do you know about gentlemen’s quarrels? Leave me; do you hear?’

‘But the Cardinal!’ he cried in a quavering voice. ‘The Cardinal, M. de Berault! The last man you killed is not forgotten yet. This time he will be sure to—’

‘Leave me, do you hear?’ I hissed. The fellow’s impudence passed all bounds. It was as bad as his croaking. ‘Begone!’ I added. ‘I suppose you are afraid that he will kill me, and you will lose your money.’

Frison fell back at that almost as if I had struck him, and I turned to my adversary, who had been awaiting my motions with impatience. God knows he did look young as he stood with his head bare and his fair hair drooping over his smooth woman’s forehead—a mere lad fresh from the college of Burgundy, if they have such a thing in England. I felt a sudden chill as I looked at him: a qualm, a tremor, a presentiment. What was it the little tailor had said? That I should—but there, he did not know. What did he know of such things? If I let this pass I must kill a man a day, or leave Paris and the eating-house, and starve.

‘A thousand pardons,’ I said gravely, as I drew and took my place. ‘A dun. I am sorry that the poor devil caught me so inopportunely. Now however, I am at your service.’

He saluted and we crossed swords and began. But from the first I had no doubt what the result would be. The slippery stones and fading light gave him, it is true, some chance, some advantage, more than he deserved; but I had no sooner felt his blade than I knew that he was no swordsman. Possibly he had taken half-a-dozen lessons in rapier art, and practised what he learned with an Englishman as heavy and awkward as himself. But that was all. He made a few wild clumsy rushes, parrying widely. When I had foiled these, the danger was over, and I held him at my mercy.

I played with him a little while, watching the sweat gather on his brow and the shadow of the church tower fall deeper and darker, like the shadow of doom, on his face. Not out of cruelty—God knows I have never erred in that direction!—but because, for the first time in my life, I felt a strange reluctance to strike the blow. The curls clung to his forehead; his breath came and went in gasps; I heard the men behind me and one or two of them drop an oath; and then I slipped—slipped, and was down in a moment on my right side, my elbow striking the pavement so sharply that the arm grew numb to the wrist.

He held off. I heard a dozen voices cry, ‘Now! now you have him!’ But he held off. He stood back and waited with his breast heaving and his point lowered, until I had risen and stood again on my guard.

‘Enough! enough!’ a rough voice behind me cried. ‘Don’t hurt the man after that.’

‘On guard, sir!’ I answered coldly—for he seemed to waver, and be in doubt. ‘It was an accident. It shall not avail you again.’

Several voices cried ‘Shame!’ and one,