Part 9

“And remember,” cried Madame de Beauregard, chucking Monsieur de Latour under the chin, “that’s the kind of a life you will be expected to lead all the time if I conclude to marry you.”

At which Monsieur de Latour shook his head in a manner which did not indicate unmitigated joy at the prospect.

“And,” continued Madame de Beauregard merrily, “you have succeeded in making General Granier insanely jealous. He hasn’t money to go the pace as you do--in fact, he never had. He makes no secret of his determination to run you out of the field, because Granier, poor angel, really wants to marry me.”

Monsieur de Latour at that moment would have run out of the field without any assistance whatever from General Granier.

Madame de Beauregard remained half an hour longer in the company of her host and her nephew, getting the particulars of what she called their charming week in Paris out of the two unfortunates. Every detail of agony they gave delighted her more and more. Their encounters with the police, their sleepless nights and exciting days, their expeditions, their falls into gutters and being dragged out again, their encounters with cabmen and chauffeurs, ballet-dancers and the like, gave her exquisite pleasure, and when she skipped out it was with the assurance to Monsieur de Latour that she really felt herself falling in love with him, and was afraid to stay longer for fear she should kiss him against his will.

As she left the room a servant appeared with a message from Louis, which was delivered with much hesitation. It was a request that Monsieur de Latour should wait upon him in the saloon.

“Go to the devil!” was Monsieur de Latour’s response.

In a few minutes Louis appeared, and going up to the great chair where Monsieur de Latour, as limp as a rag, lay, said to him in a voice of stern reproof:

“My dear Victor, your conduct in Paris is known to me, and I have not language strong enough to condemn it. What do you suppose my feelings are, as your uncle, when I hear of these outrageous performances, dragging the name of De Latour into the newspapers, and misconducting yourself in general?”

Monsieur de Latour felt very ill and disinclined to exert himself, but the tone of admonition on Louis’s part roused the old gentleman to a pitch of great anger.

“Come, now, young man,” he bawled, “you may stop this tomfoolery. Whatever I have done, I don’t choose to be corrected by a youngster like yourself.”

“Remember,” replied Louis in a voice of awful warning, “I am your uncle.”

“The devil you are! Well, uncle or no uncle, I propose to do as I like, and if I please to have a little lark in Paris----”

“A little lark!” Louis threw his hands up.

“--in conjunction with my young friend, De Contiac, here, who, I must say, incited me to most of the gaieties in which we indulged, I shall do it without any reference to you or anybody else.”

At this poor Eugène raised his pallid face from his hands, in which it had sunk, and said in a sepulchral voice:

“_I_ incited you to gaieties?”

“Well, well,” answered Monsieur de Latour testily, “it doesn’t make any difference--we incited each other.”

“I wish I could believe you,” said Louis, “but I am sure that you were chiefly responsible. As a result of your improper conduct, your niece, Mademoiselle Mélanie, is in the very deepest distress, chiefly on account of Monsieur de Contiac’s share in your performances, and she demands an interview, a final one, with Monsieur de Contiac. She awaits you,” continued Louis, turning to Eugène, “in the saloon with Mademoiselle Cheri.”

Eugène tried to rise from his chair, but sank back exhausted.

“I can’t move,” he said. “I thought I would never reach the chateau alive. I believe three days more of the racket would have killed me.”

“Then,” promptly said Louis, “Mademoiselle Mélanie and Mademoiselle Cheri will no doubt come to you here when they know the circumstances.”

At this poor Eugène absolutely burst into tears, while Louis, ringing the bell, directed the servant to request Mademoiselle Cheri and Mademoiselle Mélanie to do him the favour of coming to Monsieur de Latour’s study. While awaiting them Louis improved the occasion by lecturing Monsieur de Latour on the impropriety of his conduct, a proceeding which lashed Monsieur de Latour to fury.

In a few minutes Mademoiselle Cheri appeared with Mélanie. The poor girl was dissolved in tears, and it was a pitiable sight as she sank into a chair near Eugène, both of them weeping bitterly. Between her sobs Mélanie could only say, “All is over between us--all is over between us.”

“But he has two hundred and fifty thousand francs, mademoiselle,” put in Louis, whose goodness of heart made him wish to befriend the unhappy lovers. “Monsieur Bertoux, who secretly sympathises with you, induced Madame de Beauregard to let him deposit the money to your credit in bank. The old lady was so pleased with your indiscretions, monsieur, and so confident you would never reform, that she directed Monsieur Bertoux to do it, so you may reform and have the two hundred and fifty thousand francs as well.”

“He will never reform,” wailed Mélanie, “and we must part. O Eugène, how could you be guilty of such wickedness?”

For answer Eugène could only sob and point his finger at Monsieur de Latour. The presence of Mademoiselle Cheri was peculiarly unpleasant to Monsieur de Latour at that moment. She was entirely too outspoken, and she proceeded on the spot to treat Monsieur de Latour to what ladies call giving a man a piece of their minds.

“Monsieur,” she said severely, “no one can approve of your conduct in Paris. I thought I knew the extent to which folly would lead you, but I never dreamed of anything like your preposterous behaviour during the past week. You have brought great distress upon your niece and mortification upon all your friends.”

This was too much for Monsieur de Latour. It was bad enough to be hectored over by Louis, but by Séline Cheri, a soap-boiler’s daughter! He struggled to his feet.

“Mademoiselle,” he replied in a tone of equal severity, “I think I understand the animus from which you speak. You have perhaps observed that the Comtesse de Beauregard looks upon me with an eye of favour, and you probably disapprove of it.”

“Quite so,” answered Mademoiselle Cheri frankly.

“Ah! Perhaps you recall the time, mademoiselle, when I was an aspirant for your own hand.”

“Yes,” replied Mademoiselle Cheri, “and I will say to you, now that we are both old enough to speak frankly, that but for the obligation I felt to take care of my father in his declining years, I might have married you, Victor de Latour. You were then a worthy and estimable citizen, a good man and an excellent soap-boiler. If you had continued as such the time might have come when both of us, remembering our early association and feeling the need of friendship and companionship in our old age, would have married; but it is impossible now.”

“Thank you, mademoiselle,” replied Monsieur de Latour in a rage. “The pain of my rejection is very much mitigated by the fact that I have not made you an offer.”

“I know it,” calmly answered Mademoiselle Cheri. “We are speaking plainly, as plain people like ourselves do speak, and your fine-gentleman airs sit ridiculously on you, Victor.”

This further enraged Monsieur de Latour so much that he whirled around and plumped himself down into a chair, almost turning his back upon Mademoiselle Cheri, who remained placid though disapproving.

A long and painful silence ensued, which became so intolerable to Monsieur de Latour that he suddenly jumped up and rushed out of the room and into the saloon. As he opened the door General Granier arose. Instead of his usual gay and cordial greeting, General Granier bowed stiffly and said:

“I am calling upon Madame de Beauregard.”

Monsieur de Latour was in no state to remember the amenities of social life. He fell, rather than sank, into a chair, and stretching his legs out, ran his hands through his already rumpled hair, and then, forgetting General Granier’s presence, said to himself:

“My head is very bad, and my stomach is worse, but those ballet-girls were pretty.”

“You appear to plume yourself,” said General Granier stiffly, “upon your performances in Paris last week. Let me tell you, my dear sir, they were not a patch upon what I used to do in the year ’60.”

“Oh, nonsense!” answered Monsieur de Latour. “You never had such a week in your life as I have had.”

“Do you mean to impugn my word, monsieur?” asked General Granier, advancing and putting his right hand into his trousers pocket, and at the same time lifting up his right leg, which was a habit of his.

“Come, now,” said Monsieur de Latour, shying off, “I don’t like you to lift that leg up that way at me. It’s a gun, and I know it, and it might be loaded.”

“I always keep it loaded,” snapped General Granier, “and if you wish to know just how effective it is, observe that flower-pot across the room.”

He whirled around on his left leg, and lifting his right one at an angle of forty-five degrees, clicked the trigger in his pocket. The next instant the flower-pot tumbled over, smashed into bits.

“There, now,” cried Monsieur de Latour, edging away, “I knew you were going to do something of the kind. I think you ought to be reported to the police for carrying that thing loaded all the time, and I am not sure it is not my duty to report you.”

General Granier, twirling his mustache, backed out of the door.

“Monsieur de Latour,” he said, “I don’t understand at all your language to me this morning. I shall write you and ask a categorical explanation. Good morning!” And he disappeared.

Monsieur de Latour, lying back in his chair in much agitation, turned over in his mind the meaning of General Granier’s remarks. But while meditating a drowsiness overcame him. He had not slept for a week, and in a few minutes his loud snores, which resembled the trumpeting of an elephant, resounded through the great room.

Monsieur de Latour slept peacefully. The morning grew to high noon, high noon to afternoon, and Monsieur de Latour had just begun to make up the arrears of sleep he had lost in Paris. He was roused by a knock at the door, and a footman entered with a note. Monsieur de Latour, more asleep than awake, drowsily opened it, but at the first word he sat bolt upright and became thoroughly alert. It was from General Granier, and ran thus:

“MONSIEUR VICTOR LOUIS DE LATOUR:

“I demand an explanation of your language to me this morning, and if the explanation is not forthcoming I shall insist upon that satisfaction which one gentleman accords another. I am, sir, etc.,

“AUGUSTE GRANIER.”

“Now, what the devil does that mean?” said Monsieur de Latour, reading the note over.

“It means,” cried Julie’s voice from behind his shoulder, “that General Granier wants you to fight him.”

Monsieur de Latour glanced up. Julie had entered noiselessly, and holding up her dainty skirts, was peering over his shoulder and reading the note in his hand.

“He will be very much disappointed, then,” replied Monsieur de Latour promptly. “I haven’t the slightest notion of fighting him or anybody else. I am a peaceable, law-abiding citizen, and I don’t propose to shed the blood of a fellow-citizen, or let anybody shed mine, if I can help it. So I shall immediately write General Granier.”

“Won’t you let me write it for you?” asked Julie artlessly, apparently in entire unconsciousness of the awful consequences which the note might involve.

“No!” thundered Monsieur de Latour, “you have written enough notes for me. I shall write this myself.”

Julie ran and fetched pen and ink, put them on the table, and Monsieur de Latour drew his chair up to it and attempted to write, but it was impossible. That week in Paris had upset his hand as much as it had his head and his stomach. He could not form a single letter.

“There,” he cried, throwing down the pen, “you will have to write it for me, but be sure you don’t make any mistakes.”

“I shall take the greatest care,” sweetly replied Julie.

Then she wrote, Monsieur de Latour dictating slowly:

“GENERAL AUGUSTE GRANIER,

“MONSIEUR:

“I have received your letter, which I do not comprehend in the least; but I beg you will understand one point distinctly, and it is this--that I will not fight you, and this resolution will hold in any event. All arrangements between us must conform to that understanding. In this I am acting according to my conscience. I shall be glad to hear from you further, and meanwhile I am, etc.,

“VICTOR LOUIS DE LATOUR.”

“Now,” said Monsieur de Latour to Julie, “make me a copy of that document and be very exact.”

“I will,” responded Julie with her usual promptness.

And with many nibblings at the end of her pen, crossings out and interlineations, she finally succeeded in producing two fair copies of the letter exactly alike.

“And now let me read it,” said Monsieur de Latour.

His vision was blurred, however, and his head muddled by the events of the past week in Paris, and the letter appeared to him exactly what he desired.

“Very well,” he said with an accent of relief, “you may send it off, and I am going to bed. It is three o’clock, and I don’t wish to be disturbed until ten o’clock to-morrow morning.”

Before retiring to his room, however, Monsieur de Latour had Julie address and seal the letter to General Granier, and gave it himself to the footman. Ten minutes afterward he was snoring peacefully in his bedroom, every shade drawn, the room as dark as night, and he, as he said, with the arrears of six sleepless nights to make up.

* * * * *

In another room in the chateau was poor Eugène de Contiac, but there was no sleep for him. In addition to his mental perturbation, he became violently ill, and had to pay dearly for the champagne and cigars of the week in Paris. Louis de Latour, with old Suzette to assist him, stood by and administered well-known remedies, consoling and encouraging the unfortunate Eugène. At intervals of an hour or two Madame de Beauregard would flounce in, cackling with rapture, and declare to Eugène that his physical condition showed that he had spent exactly such a week in Paris as a man should spend.

Eugène kept old Suzette trotting to Mélanie’s room, to ask how the dear girl stood the recent developments in his conduct, and after every inquiry old Suzette came back with a doleful tale of Mademoiselle Mélanie weeping and wringing her hands and declaring that she and Eugène must part forever. At this Eugène wept copiously, which very much increased his mental and physical agony. There was no sleep for him that night. He lay awake, groaning and sighing, and telling Louis, as long as he would listen, that such a week in Paris was dear at any price. Even if that price were two hundred and fifty thousand francs.

The next morning at nine o’clock Monsieur de Latour was still slumbering peacefully when a tremendous rap was heard at his door. He mumbled a sleepy “Come in,” and Louis entered. Monsieur de Latour had not adopted the modern fashions in men’s attire for the night, and still clung to a huge cambric nightgown and a nightcap with a tassel at the top of it. It was this figure, sitting up in bed, which greeted Louis.

“My dear Victor,” said Louis sternly, “see what further trouble you have been getting yourself into! Here is a letter which I have just taken the liberty of opening and reading.”

“Opening and reading my letters!” roared Monsieur de Latour.

“Certainly. After this I shall not only insist upon reading such letters of yours as come, but those that you write as well. My dear boy, you are not to be trusted--that is the state of the case.”

Louis, throwing open the shutters and letting in the morning sun, handed the open letter to Monsieur de Latour to read. But again his shaking hand and uncertain vision prevented him, and Louis had to read the letter to him. It was from a representative of General Granier and read thus:

“MONSIEUR VICTOR LOUIS DE LATOUR:

“I am directed by my friend, General Granier, to inform you that he has received your letter of the twentieth of August containing your challenge; and I beg to say that I shall be glad to meet any appointment that you may make with a friend of yours to arrange the details of the meeting. Believe me, sir, with sentiments of the highest respect, Very truly yours,

“JEAN LE GALLIAN.”

“But I didn’t send him any challenge!” cried Monsieur de Latour. “Here is an exact copy of the note I sent General Granier.”

He drew from under his pillow the fair copy which Julie had made him and handed it to Louis, who read it aloud carefully. When he came to the part in which Monsieur de Latour had instructed Julie to write “I will not fight,” that young person had fallen into her usual mistake. One word was left out, only a little word, but it was “not,” and it made Monsieur de Latour say “I will fight you, and this resolution will hold in any event.”

Monsieur de Latour fell back on his pillows.

“I know what she will say,” he said, with the calmness of despair; “that ‘it was only one word, and such a little one!’ Great God!”

“There is no way out of it,” said Louis meditatively, “and besides that, as a member of the house of De Latour you must live up to our traditions. You must fight.”

Monsieur de Latour remained silent for a full minute.

“But I sha’n’t fight!” he announced. “I have made up my mind not to, and I am not easily changed.”

“But you must, my dear boy. As the head of the house I must insist that you shall do it.”

“You may insist all you like, but I sha’n’t.”

“General Granier, as the challenged party, has the privilege of selecting weapons. I think it extremely likely that he will require that you will use a weapon fired with the leg, as he can do.”

“Very well. I can fire just as well with my leg as I can with my arm, but I don’t intend to fire at General Granier, nor to allow him to fire at me.”

“Such language is most unbecoming the name you bear, and I wish to say that, out of regard for the honour of our family, I shall take the matter in my own hands and will act as your second and arrange the details of the meeting,” replied Louis.

Monsieur de Latour turned over in bed and pulled the covers up so that only the top of his nightcap was visible.

“Will you kindly draw the shade down,” he said, “and leave me in peace? If General Granier wants to fight me, he will have to come into this bedroom, for I have no intention of leaving it.”

“You do not appear to appreciate the seriousness of the situation,” said Louis, “nor the point of honour involved.”

“Be careful to shut the door after you,” answered Monsieur de Latour, “and don’t let them bother me with any breakfast. The bottom of my stomach has dropped out completely and I can’t eat anything, but I should like a little cognac and water at ten o’clock.”

Louis gazed at him meditatively.

“You might as well lie here and sleep,” he said. “Your hand seems to be pretty shaky, anyhow. I am sorry the chances are so against you, not being able to hold a weapon steady nor to see clearly.”

“That makes not the least difference,” said Monsieur de Latour, drawing the covers up still higher. “I am not going to fight. Good morning.”

“At least,” Louis urged, “you will have to be at the place of meeting. That I shall see to myself.”

“You must then provide a wheeled chair,” said Monsieur de Latour coolly, “because you will never get me there any other way--likewise handcuffs and leg irons.”

“You will be there,” said Louis determinedly, pulling down the shade and closing the door after him.

Monsieur de Latour, left alone in silence and darkness, began to revolve things in his mind. He had determined upon one thing, and that was to discharge Julie. Fascinating though she was, that unfortunate peculiarity of hers of always leaving out one word--small, it is true, but vital, and always bringing about a catastrophe--made her not only useless but exceedingly dangerous.

He had not mentioned to Louis the method of preventing the affair which had promptly flashed into his mind. He would simply inform the police. And then, turning over in bed, he slumbered peacefully until about three o’clock, when he was again roused by Louis’s entrance.

“It is all settled,” said Louis cheerfully. “The meeting will take place to-morrow morning, at seven o’clock, in the wood that skirts the field a mile off by the side of the old windmill. And just as I knew, General Granier has selected as weapons a gun to be fired with the foot. Of course it will be very difficult for you, but I am familiar with firearms, and I have rigged up a contrivance by which you can fire a gun with your foot. You might practise a little this afternoon, but my experience is that practice before a duel does no good, but simply is a tax upon the nerves. And, as a matter of fact, I must say to you, my dear Victor, that I don’t think you stand the least show of hitting General Granier.”

“I quite agree with you,” replied Monsieur de Latour. “Nothing would surprise me more.”

“And as for General Granier hitting you--well, I don’t think that he means to kill you, but I fancy that he means to inflict a slight wound, perhaps leaving a mark upon your scalp or taking the tip off your ear. But one can never tell.” And here Louis shook his head dolefully.

Monsieur de Latour shivered a little at this; nevertheless he had his own reasons for retaining his composure.

“At seven o’clock,” he repeated, “in the wood that skirts the field a mile off by the side of the old windmill. Well, I sha’n’t be there.”

“You will be there,” answered Louis firmly, “if I have, as you say, to provide a rolling-chair and leg irons and handcuffs; but be there you will, because you are a De Latour.”

“Good afternoon,” remarked Monsieur de Latour, in the same voice in which he had spoken in the morning. “Pull down the shade and shut the door after you.”

Monsieur de Latour was able to eat the wing of a chicken that evening, and a little boiled rice, brought up to him at dinner-time. Before retiring for the night he had a couple of alarm clocks placed in his room, set so as to go off at five o’clock, for Monsieur de Latour had a scheme in his mind which he had worked out during those long hours between sleeping and waking that he had spent in his room.