The Bright Face of Danger. Robert Neilson Stephens

sorts of revenge upon me.

      When he had finished, at the same time as I did, and our servants had gone to eat their supper in the kitchen, he leaned against the wall, and said, "I am going to sing, Monsieur, whether it pleases you or not." And forthwith he began to do so.

      My answer was to put on a look of pain, and walk hastily from the room, as if the torture to my ears were too great for endurance.

      I was not half-way across the court-yard before I heard him at my heels though not singing.

      "My friend," said he, as I turned around, "I don't know where you were bred, but you should know this: it's not good manners to break from a gentleman's company so unceremoniously."

      It occurred to me that because I had taken his insults from the first, through not knowing how much a sensible man should bear, he thought he might safely hector me to the full satisfaction of his hurt vanity.

      "So you do know something of good manners, after all?" I replied. "I congratulate you."

      His eyes flashed new wrath, but before he knew how to answer, and while we were glaring at each other like two cocks, though at some distance apart, out came Nicolas from the kitchen to ask if I wished my cloak brought down, which he had taken up with the bag. In his rustic innocence he stepped between my nagging gentleman and myself. The gentleman at this ran forward in an access of rage, and threw Nicolas aside, saying, "Out of the way, knave! You're as great a clown as your master."

      "Hands off! How dare you?" I cried, clapping my hand to my sword.

      "If you come a step nearer, I'll kill you!" he replied, grasping his own hilt.

      I sent a swift glance around. There was no witness but Nicolas. Yet a scuffle would draw people in ten seconds. Even at that moment, with my heart beating madly, I thought of the edict against duelling: so I said, as calmly as I could:

      "If you dare draw that sword, I see trees beyond that gateway—a garden or something. It will be quieter there." I pointed to a narrow exit at the rear of the yard.

      "I will show you whom you're dealing with, my lad!" he said, breathlessly, and made at once for the gate. I followed. I could see now that, though a bully, he was not a coward, and the discovery fell upon me with a sense of how grave a matter I had been drawn into.

      At the gate I looked around, and saw Nicolas following, his eyes wide with alarm. "Stay where you are, and not a word to anybody," I ordered, and closed the gate after me. My adversary led the way across a neglected garden, and out through a postern in a large wall, to where there was a thicker growth of trees. We passed among these to a little open space near the river, from which it was partly veiled by a tangled mass of bushes. The unworn state of the green sward showed that this was a spot little visited by the townspeople.

      "We have stumbled on the right place," said the young gentleman, with an assumption of coolness. "It's a pity the thing can't be done properly, with seconds and all that." And he proceeded to take off his doublet.

      I was sobered by the time spent in walking to the place, so I said, "It's not too late. Monsieur, if you are willing to apologize."

      "I apologize! Death of my life! You pile insult on insult."

      "I assure you, it is you who have been the insulter."

      He laughed in a way that revived my heat, and asked, "Swords alone, or swords and daggers?"

      "As you please." By this time I had cast off my own doublet.

      "Rapiers and daggers, then," he said, and flung away his scabbard and sheath. I saw the flash of my own weapons a moment later, and ere I had time for a second thought on the seriousness of this event—my first fight in earnest—he was keeping me busy to parry his point and watch his dagger at the same time. I was half-surprised at my own success in turning away his blade, but after I had guarded myself from three or four thrusts, I took to mind that offence is the best defence, and ventured a lunge, which he stopped with his dagger only in the nick of time to save his breast. His look of being almost caught gave me encouragement, making me realize I had received good enough lessons from my father and Blaise Tripault to enable me to practise with confidence. So I pushed the attack, but never lost control of myself nor became reckless. It was an inspiriting revelation to me to find that I could indeed use my head intelligently, and command my motions so well, at a time of such excitement. We grew hot, perspired, breathed fast and loud, kept our muscles tense, and held each other with glittering eyes as we moved about on firm but springy feet. We must have fought very swiftly, for the ring of the steel sounded afterward in my ears as if it had been almost continuous. How long we kept it up, I do not exactly know. We came to panting more deeply, and I felt a little tired, and once or twice a mist was before my eyes. At last he gave me a great start by running his point through my shirt sleeve above the elbow. Feeling myself so nearly stung, I instinctively made a long swift thrust: up went his dagger, but too late: my blade passed clear of it, sank into his left breast. He gave a sharp little cry, and fell, and the hole I had made in his shirt was quickly circled with crimson.

      "Victory!" thought I, with an exultant sense of prowess. I had fleshed my sword and brought low my man! But, as I looked down at him and he lay perfectly still, another feeling arose. I knelt and felt for his heart: my new fear was realized. With bitter regret I gazed at him. All the anger and scorn had gone out of his face: it was now merely the handsome boyish face of a youth like myself, expressing only a manly pride and the pain and surprise of his last moment. It was horrible to think that I had stopped this life for ever, reduced this energy and beauty to eternal silence and nothingness. A weakness overwhelmed me, a profound pity and self-reproach.

      I heard a low ejaculation behind me, which made me start. But I saw it was only Nicolas, who, in spite of my orders, had stolen after me, in terror of what might happen.

      "Oh, heaven!" he groaned, as he stared with pale face and scared eyes at the prostrate form. "You have killed him, Monsieur Henri."

      "Yes. It is a great pity. After all, he merely thought a little too well of himself and was a little inconsiderate of other people's feelings. But who is not so, more or less? Poor young man!"

      "Ah, but think of us, Monsieur Henri—think of yourself, I mean! We had better be going, or you will have to answer for this."

      "That is so. We must settle with the landlord and get away from this town before this gentleman is missed."

      "And alas! you arranged to stay all night. The landlord will be sure to smell something. Come, I beg of you: there's not a moment to lose. Think what there's to do—the bag to fetch down, the horse and mule to saddle. We shall be lucky if the officers aren't after us before we're out of the town."

      "You are right.—Poor young man! At least I will cover his face with his doublet before I go."

      "I'll do that, Monsieur. You put on your own doublet, and save time."

      I did so. As Nicolas ran past me with the slain man's doublet, something fell out of the pocket of it. This proved to be a folded piece of paper, like a letter, but with no name outside. I picked it up. Fancying it might give a clue to my victim's identity, and as the seal was broken, I opened it. There was some writing, in the hand of a woman—two lines only:

      "For heaven's sake and pity's, come to me at once. My life and honour depend on you alone."

      As the missive was without address, so was it without signature. It must have been delivered by some confidential messenger who knew the recipient, and yet by whom a verbal message was either not thought expedient, or required to be confirmed by the written appeal. The recipient must be familiar with the sender's handwriting. The note looked fresh and clean, and therefore must have been very lately received.

      "Come, Monsieur Henri," called Nicolas, breaking in upon my whirling thoughts. "Why do you wait?—What is the matter? What do you see on that paper?"

      "And this," I answered, though of course Nicolas could not understand me, "is the business he was on! This is why he had need to put ground behind him. He was going on to-night. He must have stopped