Part 39 (1/2)
”Adieu!” said the artist, whose extreme agitation contrasted strongly with his friend's calm. ”Rest easy! I will look after her--and I will publish a complete edition--But what an idea--to accept a duel as irregular as this! Have you ever seen him use a gun? He had no right to exact this.”
”Hurry! you must leave before the servants are up.”
”Kiss me, my poor fellow!” said Marillac, with tears in his eyes; ”it is not very manly I know, but I can not help it--Oh! these women! I adore them, of course; but just now I am like Nero, I wish that they all had but one head. It is for these little, worthless dolls that we kill each other!”
”You can curse them on your way,” said Gerfaut, who was impatient to see him leave.
”Oh, good gracious, yes! They can flatter themselves this moment that they all inspire me with a deadly hatred.”
”Do not make any noise,” said his friend, as he carefully opened the door.
Marillac pressed his hand for the last time, and went out. When he reached the end of the corridor, he stopped a moment, then went back.
”Above all things,” said he, as he pa.s.sed his head through the half-open door, ”no foolish proceedings. Remember that it is necessary that one of you should fall, and that if you fail; he will not. Take your time--aim--and fire at him as you would at a rabbit.”
After this last piece of advice, he went away; ten minutes after he had left, Gerfaut saw him riding out of the courtyard as fast as Beverley's four legs would carry him.
CHAPTER XXV. THE WILD BOAR
The most radiant sun that ever gilded a beautiful September day had arisen upon the castle. The whole valley was as fresh and laughing as a young girl who had just left her bath. The rocks seemed to have a band of silver surrounding them; the woods a mantle of green draped over their shoulders.
There was an unusual excitement in the courtyard of the chateau. The servants were coming and going, the dogs were starting a concert of irregular barks, and the horses were jumping about, sharing their instinctive presentiment and trying to break away from the bridles which held them.
The Baron, seated in his saddle with his usual military att.i.tude, and a cigar in his mouth, went from one to another, speaking in a joking tone which prevented anybody from suspecting his secret thoughts. Gerfaut had imposed upon his countenance that impa.s.sible serenity which guards the heart's inner secrets, but had not succeeded so well. His affectation of gayety betrayed continual restraint; the smile which he forced upon his lips left the rest of his face cold, and never removed the wrinkle between his brows. An incident, perhaps sadly longed for, but unhoped for, increased this gloomy, melancholy expression. Just as the cavalcade pa.s.sed before the English garden, which separated the sycamore walk from the wing of the chateau occupied by Madame de Bergenheim, Octave slackened the pace of his horse and lingered behind the rest of his companions; his eyes closely examined each of the windows; the blinds of her sleeping-room were only half closed; behind the panes he saw the curtains move and then separate. A pale face appeared for a moment between the blue folds, like an angel who peeps through the sky to gaze upon the earth. Gerfaut raised himself on his stirrups so as to drink in this apparition as long as possible, but he dared not make one gesture of adieu. As he was still endeavoring to obtain one more glance, he saw that the Baron was at his side.
”Play your role better,” said he to him; ”we are surrounded by spies. De Camier has already made an observation about your preoccupied demeanor.”
”You are right,” said Octave; ”and you join example to advice. I admire your coolness, but I despair of equalling it.”
”You must mingle with my guests and talk with them,” Christian replied.
He started off at a trot; Gerfaut followed his example, stifling a sigh as he darted a last glance toward the chateau. They soon rejoined the cart which carried several of the hunters, and which Monsieur de Camier drove with the a.s.surance of a professional coachman.
There was a moment's silence, broken only by the trot of the horses and the sound of the wheels upon the level ground.
”What the devil ails your dogs?” exclaimed Monsieur de Camier suddenly, as he turned to the Baron, who was riding behind him. ”There they are all making for the river.” Just at this moment the dogs, who could be seen in the distance, hurried to the water-side, in spite of all that their leader could do to prevent them. They almost disappeared behind the willows that bordered the river, and one could hear them barking furiously; their barks sounded like rage mingled with terror.
”It is some duck that they have scented,” observed the prosecutor.
”They wouldn't bark like that,” said Monsieur de Camier, with the sagacity of a professional hunter; ”if it were a wolf, they could not make a greater uproar. Is it by chance some wild boar who is taking a bath, in order to receive us more ceremoniously?”
He gave the horses a vigorous blow from the whip, and they all rapidly approached the spot where a scene was taking place which excited to the highest pitch everybody's curiosity. Before they reached the spot, the keeper, who had run after the dogs to call them together, came out of a thicket, waving his hat to stop the hunters, exclaiming:
”A body! a body!”
”A body! a drowned man!” he exclaimed, when the vehicle stopped.
This time it was the public prosecutor who arose and jumped from the cart with the agility of a deer.