CHAPTER VII.
A DUEL WITH AN END
Charles's absence gave Duroy a more important position on "La VieFrancaise." Only one matter arose to annoy him, otherwise his sky wascloudless.
An insignificant paper, "La Plume," attacked him constantly, or ratherattacked the editor of the "Echoes" of "La Vie Francaise."
Jacques Rival said to him one day: "You are very forbearing."
"What should I do? It is no direct attack."
But, one afternoon when he entered the office, Boisrenard handed him anumber of "La Plume."
"See, here is another unpleasant remark for you."
"Relative to what?"
"To the arrest of one Dame Aubert."
Georges took the paper and read a scathing personal denunciation.Duroy, it seems, had written an item claiming that Dame Aubert who, asthe editor of "La Plume," claimed, had been put under arrest, was amyth. The latter retaliated by accusing Duroy of receiving bribes andof suppressing matter that should be published.
As Saint-Potin entered, Duroy asked him: "Have you seen the paragraphin 'La Plume'?"
"Yes, and I have just come from Dame Aubert's; she is no myth, but shehas not been arrested; that report has no foundation."
Duroy went at once to M. Walter's office. After hearing the case, themanager bade him go to the woman's house himself, find out the details,and reply, to the article.
Duroy set out upon his errand and on his return to the office, wrotethe following:
"An anonymous writer in 'La Plume' is trying to pick a quarrel with me on the subject of an old woman who, he claims, was arrested for disorderly conduct, which I deny. I have myself seen Dame Aubert, who is sixty years old at least; she told me the particulars of her dispute with a butcher as to the weight of some cutlets, which dispute necessitated an explanation before a magistrate. That is the whole truth in a nutshell. As for the other insinuations I scorn them. One never should reply to such things, moreover, when they are written under a mask. GEORGES DUROY."
M. Walter and Jacques Rival considered that sufficient, and it wasdecided that it should be published in that day's issue.
Duroy returned home rather agitated and uneasy. What would thisopponent reply? Who was he? Why that attack? He passed a restlessnight. When he re-read his article in the paper the next morning, hethought it more aggressive in print than it was in writing. He might,it seemed to him, have softened certain terms. He was excited all dayand feverish during-the night. He rose early to obtain an issue of "LaPlume" which should contain the reply to his note. He ran his eyes overthe columns and at first saw nothing. He was beginning to breathe morefreely when these words met his eye:
"M. Duroy of 'La Vie Francaise' gives us the lie! In doing so, he lies. He owns, however, that a woman named Aubert exists, and that she was taken before a magistrate by an agent. Two words only remain to be added to the word 'agent,' which are 'of morals' and all is told. But the consciences of certain journalists are on a par with their talents."
"I sign myself, Louis Langremont."
Georges's heart throbbed violently, and he returned home in order todress himself. He had been insulted and in such a manner that it wasimpossible to hesitate. Why had he been insulted? For nothing! Onaccount of an old woman who had quarreled with her butcher.
He dressed hastily and repaired to M. Walter's house, although it wasscarcely eight o'clock. M. Walter was reading "La Plume."
"Well," he said gravely, on perceiving Duroy, "you cannot let thatpass." The young man did not reply.
The manager continued: "Go at once in search of Rival, who will lookafter your interests."
Duroy stammered several vague words and set out for Rival's house.Jacques was still in bed, but he rose when the bell rang, and havingread the insulting paragraph, said: "Whom would you like to havebesides me?"
"I do not know."
"Boisrenard?"
"Yes."
"Are you a good swordsman?"
"No."
"A good shot?"
"I have used a pistol a good deal."
"Good! Come and exercise while I attend to everything. Wait a moment."
He entered his dressing-room and soon reappeared, washed, shaven, andpresentable.
"Come with me," said he. He lived on the ground floor, and he led Duroyinto a cellar converted into a room for the practice of fencing andshooting. He produced a pair of pistols and began to give his orders asbriefly as if they were on the dueling ground. He was well satisfiedwith Duroy's use of the weapons, and told him to remain there andpractice until noon, when he would return to take him to lunch and tellhim the result of his mission. Left to his own devices, Duroy aimed atthe target several times and then sat down to reflect.
Such affairs were abominable anyway! What would a respectable man gainby risking his life? And he recalled Norbert de Varenne's remarks, madeto him a short while before. "He was right!" he declared aloud. It wasgloomy in that cellar, as gloomy as in a tomb. What o'clock was it? Thetime dragged slowly on. Suddenly he heard footsteps, voices, andJacques Rival reappeared accompanied by Boisrenard. The former cried onperceiving Duroy: "All is settled!"
Duroy thought the matter had terminated with a letter of apology; hisheart gave a bound and he stammered: "Ah--thank you!"
Rival continued: "M. Langremont has accepted every condition.Twenty-five paces, fire when the pistol is leveled and the ordergiven." Then he added: "Now let us lunch; it is past twelve o'clock."
They repaired to a neighboring restaurant. Duroy was silent. He atethat they might not think he was frightened, and went in the afternoonwith Boisrenard to the office, where he worked in an absent, mechanicalmanner. Before leaving, Jacques Rival shook hands with him and warnedhim that he and Boisrenard would call for him in a carriage the nextmorning at seven o'clock to repair to the wood at Vesinet, where themeeting was to take place.
All had been settled without his saying a word, giving his opinion,accepting or refusing, with such rapidity that his brain whirled and hescarcely knew what was taking place. He returned home about nineo'clock in the evening after having dined with Boisrenard, who had notleft him all day. When he was alone, he paced the floor; he was tooconfused to think. One thought alone filled his mind and that was: aduel to-morrow! He sat down and began to meditate. He had thrown uponhis table his adversary's card brought him by Rival. He read it for thetwentieth time that day:
"Louis LANGREMONT, 176 Rue Montmartre."
Nothing more! Who was the man? How old was he? How tall? How did helook? How odious that a total stranger should without rhyme or reason,out of pure caprice, annoy him thus on account of an old, woman'squarrel with her butcher! He said aloud: "The brute!" and glaredangrily at the card.
He began to feel nervous; the sound of his voice made him start; hedrank a glass of water and laid down. He turned from his right side tohis left uneasily. He was thirsty; he rose, he felt restless.
"Am I afraid?" he asked himself.
Why did his heart palpitate so wildly at the slightest sound? He beganto reason philosophically on the possibility of being afraid. No,certainly he was not, since he was ready to fight. Still he felt sodeeply moved that he wondered if one could be afraid in spite ofoneself. What would happen if that state of things should exist? If heshould tremble or lose his presence of mind? He lighted his candle andlooked in the glass; he scarcely recognized his own face, it was sochanged.
Suddenly he thought: "To-morrow at this time I may be dead." He turnedto his couch and saw himself stretched lifeless upon it. He hastened tothe window and opened it; but the night air was so chilly that heclosed it, lighted a fire, and began to pace the floor once more,saying mechanically: "I must be more composed. I will write to myparents, in case of accident." He took a sheet of paper and afterseveral attempts began:
"My dear father and mother:"
"At daybreak I am going
to fight a duel, and as something might happen--"
He could write no more, he rose with a shudder. It seemed to him thatnotwithstanding his efforts, he would not have the strength necessaryto face the meeting. He wondered if his adversary had ever foughtbefore; if he were known? He had never heard his name. However, if hehad not been a remarkable shot, he would not have accepted thatdangerous weapon without hesitation. He ground his teeth to prevent hiscrying aloud. Suddenly he remembered that he had a bottle of brandy; hefetched it from the cupboard and soon emptied it. Now he felt his bloodcourse more warmly through his veins. "I have found a means," said he.
Day broke. He began to dress; when his heart failed him, he took morebrandy. At length there was a knock at the door. His friends had come;they were wrapped in furs. After shaking hands, Rival said: "It is ascold as Siberia. Is all well?"
"Yes."
"Are you calm?"
"Very calm."
"Have you eaten and drunk something?"
"I do not need anything."
They descended the stairs. A gentleman was seated in the carriage.Rival said: "Dr. Le Brument." Duroy shook hands with him and stammered:"Thank you," as he entered the carriage. Jacques Rival and Boisrenardfollowed him, and the coachman drove off. He knew where to go.
The conversation flagged, although the doctor related a number ofanecdotes. Rival alone replied to him. Duroy tried to appearself-possessed, but he was haunted continually by the fear of showinghis feelings or of losing his self-possession. Rival addressed him,saying: "I took the pistols to Gastine Renette. He loaded them. The boxis sealed."
Duroy replied mechanically: "Thank you."
Then Rival proceeded to give him minute directions, that he might makeno mistakes. Duroy repeated those directions as children learn theirlessons in order to impress them upon his memory. As he muttered thephrases over and over, he almost prayed that some accident might happento the carriage; if he could only break his leg!
At the end of a glade he saw a carriage standing and four gentlemenstamping their feet in order to keep them warm, and he was obliged togasp in order to get breath. Rival and Boisrenard alighted first, thenthe doctor and the combatant.
Rival took the box of pistols, and with Boisrenard approached the twostrangers, who were advancing toward them. Duroy saw them greet oneanother ceremoniously, then walk through the glade together as theycounted the paces.
Dr. Le Brument asked Duroy: "Do you feel well? Do you not wantanything?"
"Nothing, thank you." It seemed to him that he was asleep, that he wasdreaming. Was he afraid? He did not know. Jacques Rival returned andsaid in a low voice: "All is ready. Fortune has favored us in thedrawing of the pistols." That was a matter of indifference to Duroy.They helped him off with his overcoat, led him to the ground set apartfor the duel, and gave him his pistol. Before him stood a man, short,stout, and bald, who wore glasses. That was his adversary. A voicebroke the silence--a voice which came from afar: "Are you ready, sirs?"
Georges cried: "Yes."
The same voice commanded: "Fire!"
Duroy heard nothing more, saw nothing more; he only knew that he raisedhis arm and pressed with all his strength upon the trigger. Soon he sawa little smoke before him; his opponent was still standing in the sameposition, and there was a small white cloud above his head. They hadboth fired. All was over! His second and the doctor felt him,unbuttoned his garments, and asked anxiously: "Are you wounded?" Hereplied: "No, I think not."
Langremont was not wounded either, and Jacques Rival muttereddiscontentedly: "That is always the way with those cursed pistols, oneeither misses or kills one's opponent."
Duroy was paralyzed with surprise and joy. All was over! He felt thathe could fight the entire universe. All was over! What bliss! He feltbrave enough to provoke anyone. The seconds consulted several moments,then the duelists and their friends entered the carriages and droveoff. When the official report was drawn up, it was handed to Duroy whowas to insert it in the "Echoes." He was surprised to find that twoballs had been fired.
He said to Rival: "We only fired once!"
The latter smiled: "Yes--once--once each--that makes twice!"
And Duroy, satisfied with that explanation, asked no more questions. M.Walter embraced him.
"Bravo! you have defended the colors of 'La Vie Francaise'! Bravo!"
The following day at eleven o'clock in the forenoon, Duroy received atelegram:
"My God! I have been frightened. Come at once to Rue de Constantinoplethat I may embrace you, my love. How brave you are. I adore you. Clo."
He repaired to the place appointed, and Mme. de Marelle rushed into hisarms, covering him with kisses.
"Oh, my darling, if you only knew how I felt when I read the morningpapers! Tell me, tell me all about it."
Duroy was obliged to give her a detailed account.
"You must have had a terrible night before the duel!"
"Why, no; I slept very well."
"I should not have closed my eyes. Tell me what took place on theground."
Forthwith he proceeded to give her a graphic description of the duel.When he had concluded, she said to him: "I cannot live without you! Imust see you, and with my husband in Paris it is not very convenient. Ioften have an hour early in the morning when I could come and embraceyou, but I cannot enter that horrible house of yours! What can we do?"
He asked abruptly: "How much do you pay here?"
"One hundred francs a month."
"Very well, I will take the apartments on my own account, and I willmove at once. Mine are not suitable anyway for me now."
She thought a moment and then replied: "No I do not want you to."
He asked in surprise: "Why not?"
"Because!"
"That is no reason. These rooms suit me very well. I am here; I shallremain." He laughed. "Moreover, they were hired in my name!"
But she persisted: "No, no, I do not wish you to."
"Why not, then?"
She whispered softly, tenderly: "Because you would bring others here,and I do not wish you to."
Indignantly he cried: "Never, I promise you!"
"You would do so in spite of your promise."
"I swear I will not."
"Truly?"
"Truly--upon my word of honor. This is our nest--ours alone!"
She embraced him in a transport of delight. "Then I agree, my dearest.But if you deceive me once--just once, that will end all between usforever."
He protested, and it was agreed that he should settle in the rooms thatsame day. She said to him:
"You must dine with us Sunday. My husband thinks you charming."
He was flattered. "Indeed?"
"Yes, you have made a conquest. Did you not tell me that your home wasin the country?"
"Yes; why?"
"Then you know something about agriculture?"
"Yes."
"Very well; talk to him of gardening and crops; he enjoys thosesubjects."
"All right. I shall not forget."
She left him, after lavishing upon him innumerable caresses.
Bel Ami; Or, The History of a Scoundrel: A Novel Page 7