Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

“So I would kill you or you would kill me.”

  “That would probably have been the case at that distance unless we were very poor shots. But if one is so anxious to kill people, one should at least tell me why.”

  “I want to kill you — because I hate you.”

  “Bah!”

  “Do not sneer, M. de Pont Brillant, do not sneer.”

  “It is very difficult not to, but I’ll try simply to oblige you. You hate me, you say, and why?”

  “The cause of my hatred concerns you as little as my name.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, you hate me, you say? What of it?”

  “You must kill me or I shall kill you.”

  “That seems to be a settled thing with you. Where are we to fight?”

  “Here, right here and now.”

  “But it isn’t light enough to see.”

  “There is no need of its being light enough to see.”

  “But what are we to fight with?”

  “With my gun.”

  “One gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a strange idea. How are we to do it?”

  “Get down off your horse.”

  “And after that?”

  “Pick up a handful of stones out of the road.”

  “Stones! So it is with stones that we are going to fight. It reminds me of the famous battle between David and Goliath.”

  “I said that you were to pick up a handful of stones out of the road. The darkness will prevent you from counting the stones, and you will hold them in your closed hand. The one who guesses the number correctly is to have the gun. He will place it against the other’s breast and fire. You see that no daylight is needed for that, M. de Pont Brillant.”

  Frederick’s manner was so resolute and his voice so incisive that the young marquis, strange as the whole affair seemed to be, decided that the speaker was really in earnest; then, suddenly remembering a conversation that had taken place in his grandmother’s drawing-room, he burst into a hearty laugh and exclaimed:

  “This is a good joke, upon my word. I understand everything now.”

  “Explain, M. de Pont Brillant.”

  “Last night at the château they were all telling stories about robbers and midnight attacks, and they laughed about what I would do under such circumstances. I talked a little boastfully of my courage, I suppose, so they concocted this little scheme to test it, for they knew that I would have to pass through this road in returning from Montel. You can tell the persons that paid you to waylay me that I behaved myself very creditably, for, upon my word as a gentleman, I took the thing seriously at first. Good night, my worthy friend. Let me pass now, for it is getting late, and I shall scarcely have time to reach Pont Brillant and dress before dinner.”

  “This is no joke, M. de Pont Brillant, nor is it a test. You will not be allowed to pass, and you are going to get down off your horse.”

  “I have had enough of this, I tell you,” exclaimed Raoul, imperiously. “You have earned your money. Now stand aside so I can pass.”

  “Dismount, M. de Pont Brillant, dismount, I say!”

  “So much the worse for you, I’ll ride right over you,” cried Raoul, now thoroughly enraged.

  And he urged his horse on.

  But Frederick seized the horse by the bridle, and with a violent jerk forced the animal back upon its haunches.

  “How dare you touch my horse, you scoundrel!” roared Raoul, raising his whip and striking at random, but the blow fell only upon empty air.

  “I consider the blow and the insulting epithet received, M. de Pont Brillant, and now you will indeed be a coward if you don’t dismount at once and give me the satisfaction I demand.”

  As we have remarked before, Raoul was naturally brave; he was also as experienced in the ways of the world as most young men of twenty-five, so this time he answered very seriously and with remarkable good sense and firmness:

  “You have charged me with cowardice, and you have grossly insulted me besides, so I tried to chastise you as one chastises a vagabond who insults you on a street corner. Unfortunately the darkness rendered my attempts futile, and you will be obliged to take the will for the deed. If this doesn’t satisfy you, you know who I am and you can come to the Château de Pont Brillant to-morrow with two honourable men, if you know any, which I doubt very much, judging from your actions. These gentlemen can confer with the Vicomte de Marcilly and M. le Duc de Morville, my seconds. Your seconds will tell my seconds your name and the cause of the challenge you say you sent me this morning. These gentlemen will decide between them what should be done. I am perfectly willing to abide by their decision. That is the way such affairs are managed among well-bred people. As you don’t know, I will endeavour to teach you.”

  “And you refuse to fight me here and now?”

  “I do, most decidedly.”

  “Take care. Either you or I will remain here!”

  “Then it will be you, so good night,” said Raoul.

  As he spoke he plunged his spurs into his horse’s sides. The animal made a powerful spring forward, hurling Frederick to the ground.

  When Madame Bastien’s son, still stunned from his fall, staggered to his feet, he heard the sound of Raoul’s horse’s hoofs already dying away in the distance.

  After a brief moment of stupor, Frederick uttered a cry of ferocious joy, and, picking up his gun, climbed one of the almost perpendicular banks on the side of the road with the aid of the pine saplings, and plunged headlong into the forest.

  CHAPTER XIV.

  WHILE THESE EVENTS were transpiring in the forest of Pont Brillant, Madame Bastien was a prey to the most poignant anxiety. Faithful to the promise she had made Frederick the evening before, she waited until nearly one o’clock in the afternoon before entering her son’s room. Believing he was still sleeping, she hoped he would derive much benefit from this restful slumber.

  The young mother was in her chamber, which adjoined her son’s room, listening every now and then for some sound that would seem to indicate that her son was awake, when Marguerite, their old servant, came in to ask for some instructions.

  “Speak low, and close the door carefully,” said Marie. “I don’t want my son waked.”

  “M. Frederick, madame; why, he went out this morning at sunrise with his gun.”

  To rush into her son’s bedroom was the work of only an instant.

  Frederick was not there; his gun, too, was missing.

  Several hours passed, but Frederick did not appear, and the light of the dull November day was already beginning to wane when Marguerite came running in.

  “Madame, madame,” she exclaimed, “here is Father André! He saw M. Frederick this morning.”

  “You saw my son this morning, André? What did he say to you? Where is he now?” cried Madame Bastien, eagerly.

  “Yes, madame, M. Frederick came to me for some bullets about sunrise this morning.”

  “Bullets? What did he want of them?” asked the anxious mother, trying to drive away the horrible suspicion that had suddenly presented itself to her mind. “Did he want them for hunting?”

  “Of course, madame; for M. Frederick told me that Jean François — you know Jean François, the farmer near Coudraie?”

  “Yes, yes, I know; go on.”

  “It seems that Jean François told M. Frederick yesterday that a wild boar got into his garden a night or two ago, and ruined his potatoes; and M. Frederick told me he was going to station himself in a hiding-place that Jean François knew of, and kill the animal.”

  “But that is so dangerous,” cried Madame Bastien. “Frederick never shot at a boar in his life. If he misses, he is sure to be killed.”

  “I don’t think you need feel any anxiety, madame. M. Frederick is an excellent shot, and—”

  “Then my son is at the farmer’s house now, I suppose?”

  “I presume so, as he is going with the farmer this e
vening.”

  A quarter of an hour afterward the young mother, panting and breathless, — for she had run every step of the way, — knocked at the door of the farmhouse, where Jean François and his wife and children were seated around the fire.

  “Jean François, take me where my son is at once,” cried Madame Bastien; then she added, reproachfully, “How could you allow a youth of his age to expose himself to such danger? But come, I entreat you, come, it may not be too late to prevent this imprudence on his part.”

  The farmer and his wife exchanged looks of profound astonishment, then Jean François said:

  “Excuse me, madame, but I’ve no idea what you mean.”

  “Didn’t you complain to my son last night of a wild boar that had been ravaging your garden?”

  “Oh, the boars find so many nuts in the forest this year that they are not inclined to leave it. They have done us no damage up to the present time, thank Heaven.”

  “But you urged my son to come and take a shot at some boar.”

  “No, madame, no; I never even spoke of any boar to him.”

  Overcome with dread and consternation, Marie stood perfectly silent and motionless for a moment. At last she murmured:

  “Frederick lied to André. And those bullets — my God! — those bullets, what did he intend to do with them?”

  The honest farmer, seeing Madame Bastien’s intense anxiety, and thinking to reassure her at least in a measure, said to her:

  “I never said anything to M. Frederick about hunting boars, but if you want to find him, I think I know where he is.”

  “You have seen him, then?”

  “Yes, madame. Madame knows that steep hill about a mile from the Vieille Coupe road, as you go to the château through the forest?”

  “Yes, yes; what of it?”

  “Why, just at dusk I was coming down that hill on my way home, when I saw M. Frederick come out of the forest and cross the road on the run.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “At least half an hour.”

  “Jean François, you are a good man. I am in great trouble. Take me to the place where you saw my son, I implore you,” pleaded the young mother.

  “I see what the trouble is, madame, and I don’t know but you have good cause to feel anxious—”

  “Go on — go on.”

  “Well, the fact is that you’re afraid that M. Frederick may be caught poaching in the Pont Brillant woods. I feel in the same way, madame, and I honestly think we have reason to be alarmed, for the young marquis is bitter against poachers, and as jealous of his game as his deceased father used to be. His guards are always on the watch, and if they find M. Frederick poaching it will go hard with him.”

  “Yes, yes, that is what I am afraid of,” replied Madame Bastien, quickly. “You see we haven’t a minute to lose. Jean François, I must get my son away at any cost.”

  CHAPTER XV.

  WHEN MARIE BASTIEN and her guide left the farmhouse they found that the fog had lifted, and that the moon was shining brightly.

  A profound silence reigned.

  Jean François strode on for a moment or two in silence, then, moderating his pace, he turned and said:

  “Pardon, me, madame, I am going too fast, perhaps.”

  “Too fast? Oh, no, my friend, you cannot go too fast. Go on, go on, I can keep up with you.”

  Then, after they had walked a few minutes longer in silence, Marie asked:

  “When you saw my son, did he seem excited or agitated?” And as the farmer turned to reply, Madame Bastien exclaimed:

  “Don’t lose a minute, talk as we walk.”

  “I can hardly say, madame. I saw him come out of the forest, run across the road, and enter a thicket which he had probably selected as a hiding-place.”

  “And you think you would know this thicket?”

  “Unquestionably, madame. It is only about ten rods from the sign-post on the main road to the château.”

  “What a distance it is, Jean François! Shall we never get there?”

  “It will take a quarter of an hour longer.”

  “A quarter of an hour!” murmured the young mother. “Alas! so many things may happen in a quarter of an hour.”

  Madame Bastien and her guide hurried on, though more than once the young woman was obliged to press both hands upon her breast to still the violent throbbing of her heart.

  “What time do you think it is, Jean François?” she asked a few minutes afterward.

  “Judging from the moon, I think it must be about seven o’clock.”

  “And when we reach the edge of the forest we are near the thicket, you say?”

  “Not more than a hundred yards at most, madame.”

  “You had better enter one side of the thicket, Jean François, and I will enter the other, and we will both call Frederick at the top of our voices. If he does not answer us,” continued the young woman with an involuntary shudder, “if he does not answer us, we shall be obliged to continue our search, for we must not fail to find him.”

  “Certainly, madame, but if you will take my advice you will not call M. Frederick.”

  “But why not?”

  “We might give warning to the gamekeepers who are probably on the watch, for a bright moonlight night like this seems to have been made expressly for poachers.”

  “You are right. But do you hear that?” she exclaimed, pausing and listening attentively. “It sounds like the ring of horse’s hoofs.”

  “It is, madame. It may be that the head gamekeeper is making his rounds. Now we have reached the edge of the forest, madame, we will take this short cut, for it will take us straight to the guide-post, only look out for your face, for there are so many holly-bushes.”

  And more than once Marie’s delicate hands were torn and lacerated by the sharp points of the holly-leaves, but she was not even conscious of it.

  “Those bullets, why did he want those bullets?” she said to herself. “But I will not allow myself to think of it. I should die of terror, and I need all my strength.”

  Just then the sound of horse’s hoofs, which had seemed to come from a long way off, rang out louder and louder, then ceased entirely, as if the animal had paused entirely or settled down into a walk to ascend a very steep hill.

  “It was only about twenty yards from here on the top of the hill that I saw M. Frederick enter that thicket on the edge of the road,” said the farmer, pointing to a large clump of young oaks. “I will go around on the other side of the thicket, you can enter it on this side, so we cannot fail to find M. Frederick if he is still there. In case I meet him before you do, I shall tell him that you want him to give up his poaching at once, sha’n’t I, madame?”

  Marie nodded her assent, and entered the little grove in an agony of suspense, while Jean François hurried on.

  The horse was now near enough to the top of the hill for his tread to be distinctly heard, though he was moving so slowly, and in another instant horse and rider both became distinctly visible in the bright moonlight. The rider was Raoul de Pont Brillant, who had been obliged to take this route after leaving the Vieille Coupe road.

  Frederick, who was familiar with every path and road in the forest, had, by making a short cut through the woods, reached the top of the hill considerably in advance of the young marquis.

  Marie soon reached quite a large clearing that extended to the roadside. Near the edge of this clearing stood an immense oak, and the thick moss that covered the ground beneath it deadened the sound of any footsteps so effectually that the young woman was able to approach without attracting the attention of her son, whom she saw half hidden by the enormous trunk of the tree. Too deeply absorbed to notice his mother’s approach, Frederick was kneeling bareheaded on the grass, holding his gun half lowered as if confident that the moment to raise it to his shoulder and fire was close at hand.

  Though she had endeavoured to drive away the terrible thought, there had been a strong fear of the possibility of s
uicide, so it is easy to imagine Madame Bastien’s intense joy and relief when, from her son’s posture, she concluded that the farmer’s suspicions were justified and that her son was merely poaching on his neighbour’s preserves; so, in a wild transport of tenderness and delight, the young mother sprang forward and threw her arms around her son at the very instant he brought his gun to his shoulder, muttering the while, in a ferocious tone:

  “Ah, M. le marquis, I have you now.”

  For Frederick had just seen Raoul de Pont Brillant slowly advancing toward him through the clear moonlight, lazily whistling a hunting song.

  Madame Bastien’s movement had been so sudden and so impetuous that her son’s gun fell from his hands at the instant he was about to fire.

  “My mother!” murmured Frederick, petrified with astonishment.

  The horse’s tread and the hunting song Raoul de Pont Brillant was whistling had partially deadened the noise Madame Bastien had made. Nevertheless, the young marquis seemed to have heard or seen something that had excited his suspicions, for, standing up in his stirrups, he called out, imperiously, “Who goes there!” then listened attentively again.

  Marie, who had just discovered the reason of her son’s presence in the forest, placed her hand over Frederick’s mouth and listened breathlessly.

  “HE BROUGHT HIS GUN TO HIS SHOULDER.”

  Receiving no response after waiting several seconds, and not supposing for one moment that his unknown enemy could have gotten here in advance of him, Raoul settled himself in his saddle again, saying to himself: “It was some startled deer leaping through the bushes;” after which the mother and son, silent, motionless, and locked in a firm embrace, heard the young man begin to whistle his hunting song again.

  The sound grew fainter and fainter until it died away altogether in the profound silence that pervaded the forest.

  CHAPTER XVI.

  MADAME BASTIEN COULD no longer doubt Frederick’s intentions, for she had seen him aim at Raoul de Pont Brillant, at the same time exclaiming, “I have you now, M. le marquis;” but this ambuscade seemed so cowardly and so atrocious to the unfortunate woman that, in spite of the conclusive evidence against her son, she still tried to close her eyes to the truth.