“Let’s just see how good he is,” Colin said coolly.
Vernay said, “Step back, everyone.” He himself backed up, and Manville took the sword, making a few passes with it that made swish-ing sounds in the air.
Colin took his position, his left foot forward, his right foot back, and extended his left hand out of the way. The world seemed to fade then, and he saw only the face and the blade of his adversary. It was another advantage he had. He had always been able to focus solely on the man who faced him with a foil. His teacher, François Morell, had often commented on what a blessing this was. “Men sometimes get confused and disconcerted by something other than their opponents. You never have that problem, my lord.”
As he expected, Manville came forward thrusting and slashing. At once Colin saw that Manville depended on physical strength and intimidation. Coolly he thwarted the first blow and did not back up. Manville thrust his foil upward, and with a quick gesture, Colin moved his blade to to match Manville’s guard. He shoved with all the strength in his arm and Manville reeled backwards. He tripped and fell but scrambled to his feet. His eyes were wide with shock, and Colin said, “That was rather clumsy, Manville. Come, you can do better.”
Colin waited as the man approached him again, this time more carefully. He was a good swordsman but nothing like the master from whom Colin had learned. The two circled each other, and Colin quite easily parried. He made no attempt to carry the fight to Manville. He kept his guard up, and knowing that the grass was wet and slippery, he moved carefully.
The clashing of the blades and the heavy breathing of Manville were the only sounds until Manville tried for a killing move. A cry rose from the crowd.
“I thought you were an expert swordsman,” Colin said. “But I see you are just an amateur.” His remark excited the rage of Manville, who tried even harder. The fight went on and on, and finally Colin saw that his opponent was growing weary. He said, “My arm’s a little tired. I think I’ll use my left.” He switched to his left hand and began to put more pressure on Manville. He moved forward, feeling strong. He drove Manville back, and finally, when Manville ran toward him, he parried the blow, and his blade shot out and slashed Manville’s tie. Part of the tie fell to the ground, and Colin said, “You have to be more careful of your attire, sir. It wouldn’t do for a great swordsman like you to be dressed in anything but the best.”
The crowd laughed. For Colin the duel had become silly. Manville was exhausted, and Colin could have killed him at any time. He had no plan to do that, however. Then he finally he saw his chance.
Manville’s right arm was trembling with fatigue, and he meekly held up his left to protect himself. Colin lunged forward. He felt the jar as the tip of his sword struck Manville’s hand, penetrating it, and he twisted the blade as Manville screamed.
Withdrawing the blade with one smooth motion, Colin stepped back and lowered the tip. “I think this duel is over.”
“My hand! You’ve ruined my hand!”
Manville had dropped his sword and was clutching his hand. Blood poured through his fingers.
The surgeon came forward at once and looked at the hand. “You’ve got some tendons sliced there. I don’t think this hand’s going to be much use for things like dueling,” he said.
Colin turned to Claude, who was shocked into silence. “Why don’t we finish this now, Vernay? I think everyone here knows you’ve been hiding behind your man.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vernay said quickly.
“I’m not sure about all the rules, but perhaps this will give you a good reason for fighting.” He reached forward and slapped Vernay lightly on the cheek. “That provocation enough for a challenge?”
Vernay glared at Colin. He was thinking how easily the man before him had shot the two coins out of the air and how he had toyed with Manville as if he were a child. “You’re safe. You know I will not challenge you.”
“I rather thought you wouldn’t. Well, this is the end of it, as far as I’m concerned.”
Claude Vernay wheeled and walked stiff-legged away from the crowd. Rage flowed through him. He knew that he had no chance with the man with a sword and very little chance with a pistol—Colin was simply more skilled than he, to his surprise. As he walked away, however, he already had begun to think. He may beat Leon, but there is one he cannot beat. He thought of Jean Paul Compier, who was known as the best swordsman in France. The two had been compan-ions, and now the plan formed in his mind. I will send for Jean Paul. He will take care of this popinjay! He will put a sword through his heart!
Chapter eighteen
New Orleans had buzzed with talk about the duel between Colin, the famous star of the opera, and Leon Manville. Many had actually congratulated Colin, something that displeased him and to which he barely responded. The news had come out that Manville’s hand had been badly mangled so that he lost partial use of it. No one had seemed particularly upset about that, for he was widely known as a bully, and he had no powerful friends.
Simone was tremendously relieved when the affair was over, and she had thrown herself into helping Bayard, who had scheduled his first show. He had worked hard and accumulated a good stock of paintings, and the show was well advertised throughout the city.
The day of the show, Simone traveled to Fanair Hall, which was often used for such things. The hall was a very old building but well preserved, and the reception area was adequate for such a show. Simone had hung decorations and arranged for refreshments, and she was delighted when the citizens of New Orleans filed in. Many of them came out of curiosity, she knew, but the d’Or family had many friends, and Simone was busy greeting and showing people around.
She worked all day, but the high moment of the show came for her when Colin arrived late that night, after the opera. She met him at once and said, “It’s going so well, Colin. We’ve already sold six paint-ings. Isn’t it marvelous?”
“Yes, it is. I must go congratulate Bayard, but he seems rather busy right now.”
“I think this show proves that he has the talent to be a successful artist.”
“I agree. Well, perhaps you’ll show me around.”
“Oh yes, of course. Come along.”
Colin followed Simone as she showed him various paintings. He stopped before the one of her and said, “That’s new, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Colin decided to paint one of each member of the family.”
“How much is it?”
“Oh, it’s not for sale. I just wanted to put it up so they could see how well he’s done.”
“He’s done very well indeed.”
Simone protested, “I don’t really look that good.”
“I think you’ll have to let others be the judge of that. As for me, I think you do.” He turned to her and would have said more, but at that moment Bayard approached and greeted Colin warmly. “I’m so glad you came, Colin. Has Simone told you how well we’re doing?”
“Yes, I’m very pleased, Bayard. I’d like to buy that one, but she tells me it’s not for sale.”
“Maybe I can convince her to pose again and paint one just for you.”
“I’ll commission you to do that. How much would you charge me?”
“Charge you! Don’t be foolish! For you it will be a pleasure.”
Colin was truly happy for Bayard. He knew a little bit about how far down in the world he had gone and now was pleased to see the glow of health in Bayard’s cheeks and the pride in his eyes.
They stood talking until Bayard’s parents came up. They greeted Colin, then Bayard said, “Now that I have a little money, there’s some-thing I must do.”
“What is that, son?” Louis said. The success of the show had stunned and pleased him. Painting had always seemed a frivolous thing for a grown man’s occupation, but he saw the leaders of the city, powerful men and women, who had come to the show and bought his son’s work. This dissolved Louis’s whole objection, and he gazed at Bayard fondly. “I suppose
you’re going to buy a fancy racehorse now.”
“Not at all. I’ve thought a great deal,” he said, “about Fleur and her mother. I haven’t had any way to help them, but now I do.”
“Are you going out to their place?” Simone asked.
“Yes. I’m going to take tomorrow off.”
“Anything they need, I’ll be glad to help with,” Louis said quickly.
“Thank you, Father, but this is something I would like to use my own money for. I owe those two a great deal.”
The rains had passed away, and as Bayard approached the cabin, he felt extraordinarily well. The light had washed the sky, and the wind had blown through the cane fields as he had ridden his stallion to the cabin. He had discovered that it was not necessary to go by boat. If one had a horse, there was a rather roundabout way. He had to stop twice to make inquiries, but the day was beautiful, and he was happy about his plan.
Mimosa trees stood in front of the house. He could smell the damp earth as he called, “Hello, the house!” and quickly dismounted. The door opened, and he smiled as Fleur stepped out. She was wear-ing the same outfit that he had seen her in the last time. He took off his hat and said, “Good morning, Fleur. I’ve come for a visit.”
“I’m glad to see you, Bayard. Tie up your horse, and come in.”
Bayard tied his stallion to a sapling and entered the cabin. She waved toward one of the chairs at the table. “Sit down. Perhaps you are hungry.”
“No, but I could use some of that good, strong coffee that you make so well.”
“I have some ready. I just browned the coffee beans yesterday and ground them. It will be ver’ fresh.”
Bayard had a strange feeling. He glanced over toward the bed and saw where he had lain for almost a week, totally out of the world. He shook his head. “I think about my time here so often.”
Fleur said, “I think about it, too.” She obtained two cups and said, “I have fresh milk.”
“That’s the best way to drink coffee,” he said. She poured the cup half full with the black, thick coffee and then added milk. Giving him a spoon, she sat down opposite him. “What have you been doing?” she asked. “How is your family?”
“I’ve been doing better than I ever have in my life,” Bayard said. He leaned forward and began to describe the work that he had done, and with great excitement he told her of the show and how he had sold many paintings.
Fleur listened to him silently, and Bayard was puzzled. She had always been so filled with life, her eyes gleaming and dancing as she spoke. But she was very quiet now, until finally she said, “Oh, I’m happy your paintings are sold. Are you still walking with God?”
“Yes, I am, as best I know how. I owe that to you and your mother.” He looked toward the door and said, “How is your mother, Fleur?”
Fleur looked down at her coffee cup, picked it up, and moved it around in a circle on the tabletop. When she looked up, her eyes were dark. “Ma mere, she go to be with God a week ago.”
“Oh, Fleur, I wish I had known. I would have come.”
“It was time for her,” Fleur said simply. “The night before she die, we talked a long time. She seemed ver’ well. She tell me things about herself I had never known, and then she kiss me, and then she blessed me. When I go to her the next morning, she had gone.”
“I’m so sorry.” Bayard reached across the table and took her hand.
“It is not to be sorry. She is with her Lord now.”
“What will you do now?”
“I will stay here, I suppose.”
“Fleur, that’s not good. You need to be with people.”
“I have friends. I do not see them ver’ often, but they came to the funeral.”
“You are cut off out here.” A sudden impulse moved Bayard, and he said, “You must come and stay with my family for a while.”
Fleur looked up, her eyes widening with surprise. “Stay with you, Bayard?”
“Yes. You are all alone here. There’s nothing to think of but your loss. I want you to come.”
“But I do not know your family, and they do not know me.”
“They will love you as I do.”
The words struck Fleur. She stared at him in surprise. “I do not know what to do. It is lonely here. Ma mere, we had each other, and now I have no one.”
Suddenly Fleur got up and walked to the window and stared out. She had made no sound, but her shoulders were drawn tensely together. Bayard got up and walked over to her. He turned her around, and when she looked up at him, he said, “You have done so much for me, and my family’s so grateful. I want you to come at least for a visit.” He gave her no chance to object but smiled and said, “They will be very glad to see you. Now, you get your things together.”
“Is it right for me to do this?”
“It’s very right.”
New life seemed to flow into Fleur’s face. “Maybe the good Lord send you to bring comfort to my heart. I think I was ready to give ma mere up, but I am ver’ lonely.”
“It’s not good to be alone.”
Fleur smiled up at him. “That is what the Bible says. God say it to Adam. He say, ‘It is not good for man to be alone,’ and He made Eve for him.”
“Well, I certainly agree with the Lord.”
“I will have to stop and tell Lonnie to take care of the livestock.”
“We can do that. Come, I’m anxious for you to meet my family.”
PART FOUR
• 1838 •
Fleur
Chapter nineteen
All the way from Fleur’s cabin into town, Bayard had talked steadily. Fleur rode her mare, and the two traveled at a fast clip. As they neared the city, Bayard saw that the girl was frightened.
Once in New Orleans, she looked around carefully at every-thing. “I have never see such a big place. How you ever find your way?”
“The same way you find your way in the bayou, I expect. By going over it and over it. Come. Our home isn’t far from here.”
When they arrived at the house, Fleur admired its size and said, “This is your house?”
“My family’s house. The stable is in back. We’ll have our driver take care of the animals.”
They rode to the back, and Robert met them. “Robert, this is Miss Fleur Avenall. She’s going to be staying with us. I want you to take good care of her mare. Grain her, and rub her down.”
“Yes, sir. Good to see you, Miss Fleur.”
“Your name is Robert? I am glad to know you.”
“Come along. Simone will be so happy. She talks about you a lot.”
Fleur grew tense when they entered the house. She looked around and saw the wallpaper with bright colors, the shining cypress floor, the light streaming through the high windows. “I’ve never been in a place like this.”
“Fleur, you’ve come to visit!” Simone had come down the hall, and she hurried forward with a smile on her face. She put out her hand, and when they had shaken hands, she put her arm around Fleur and said, “What a delightful surprise!”
“I have some bad news, Simone,” Bayard said quickly. “Fleur’s mother passed away last week.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Fleur. I wish you had gotten word to us so we could have come.”
“I did not really think of it.”
“But you’re here now, I hope for a long visit.”
“She certainly is—as long as we can persuade her. I want you to take her upstairs and let her have the green room. I’ll have Robert bring her things up.”
“Of course. Come along, Fleur.” Simone led the way up the stairs and down the hall. She opened the door and said, “This will be your room. I hope you’ll like it. It’s always been one of my favorites.”
Fleur stepped inside and then stopped dead still. “I have never see such a room,” she whispered. The room was wallpapered with green-and-gold flocked wallpaper all the way up to the high, white ceiling. The dark wooden floor was covered with a very large brown, green, and beige
carpet with designs of flowers, leaves, and birds on it, and two tall windows were covered with dark green velvet curtains that were now pulled back to admit the day’s light. The furniture was all quite large and made of mahogany, with the bed dominating the middle of the room with its tall posts and covered canopy. Many pic-tures decorated the walls, all in ornate gold frames, and a beautifully carved mirror hung over the washstand holding a fine porcelain basin and pitcher.
“I think is too fine for me.”
“No, it’s just right for you.” Simone put her arm around the girl. “I’m so sorry about your mother, but I want you to stay with us for a long, long time. I’ve always wanted a sister, and now I have one.”
When Fleur looked up, Simone saw tears in her eyes. “I am too ignorant. I would not know what to say to your family or your friends.”
Simone said, “That’s foolishness. Why, you know a lot more about many things than any of my friends.”
“What could I know that a fine lady like you would not know?”
“Well, I don’t know how to skin a coon or dress a ’gator.”
Fleur smiled. It was not a full smile, but she no longer looked sad. “I will teach you how when you come and visit with me.”
“That’s a bargain.”
The two talked until Robert brought her things up, and when Simone saw the pitiful clothing, only one faded dress, she said, “I know what we will do first thing. I need some new things, and we’ll both go out and buy new dresses.”
“But I have no money.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary. Papa is always generous. You are so pretty, and we’ll fix you up fine.”
Bayard saw during the evening meal that Fleur was overwhelmed by the world into which he had thrust her. His parents had welcomed her fulsomely, and Simone had made much of her. Still Fleur looked with panic, he saw, on the table that was set with china and a full set of tableware. Why, she doesn’t know which fork to use or even how to eat in a place like this, he thought. It must be terrible for her.
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