"Then, as you must grant him the privileges of the challenged party, I fear there is only one way of carrying this thing through. He is patriotic to a fault, and he will fight in the American fashion or not at all. I must say this is to the credit of his courage, as there is to me, an Englishman, something appalling about the method. I trust that I"m not a coward, yet it would take all my nerve to face such an ordeal. No doubt, however, with the fiery Latin races it is different."
"I shall be glad of your explanation, Monsieur. What is this method of which you speak?"
"There are several small variations; there are the bits of paper; there are the matches; there are the beans of different size."
"I am more in the dark than ever."
"My friend proposes the bits of paper. Two are taken, exactly resembling each other, except in length. Both are placed inside a book, with an end, say an inch long, sticking out. You and Mr.
Laurence draw simultaneously, that there can be no question of cheating. The one who draws the long bit lives--the other stands up to be shot, without defending himself."
"_Mon Dieu_, how horrible! I would never submit to such a barbarous test. That is not a duel, it is murder."
I shrugged my shoulders as gracefully, I flatter myself, as Paolo himself could have done it. But for the moment Paolo was in no shoulder-shrugging mood. His very crest--it seemed to me--was drooping.
"Nevertheless," said I, "that is the American idea of a duel, as practised in the best society. My friend is a member of the Four Hundred, and should it become known that he had been killed in an old-fashioned, butcherly duel, his memory would be disgraced."
"But what about my memory?" demanded Paolo, with open palms. "Monsieur does not appear to think of that."
"It was not on my mind. I am acting for my friend. You have challenged a boy, a mere child, to fight you to the death. He very pluckily accepts your challenge. There are those who would think that you had done a brutal, even a cowardly thing, in putting a youth of seventeen or eighteen into such a position. Then, surely your most lenient friends would say that the least you could do would be to give the child his right of choice in weapons. Very well; he chooses two bits of paper of different lengths."
Paolo shuddered. "I will not consent," he said, swallowing hard, after a moment"s reflection.
"Very well. You have had my friend"s ultimatum. Am I to tell him that this is yours?"
"It is not fair!" he exclaimed. "Monsieur Laurence has his friend to act for him. As yet, I have no one."
"He is eighteen at most. You are--perhaps thirty. Still, if you insist, I will see Captain de Sales, tell him my princ.i.p.al"s idea, and perhaps he will be more fortunate in inducing you to consent----"
"No, no," cried the Italian quickly. "I would not have him or anyone know of this monstrous proposal. I should never hear the end of it, and there would be a thousand versions of the story."
I was not surprised at this decision on his part. Indeed, I had expected it with confidence.
"You will not reconsider?" I asked nonchalantly.
"Jamais de la vie!"
"Then the duel is off."
Paolo swore.
I smiled; but he did not see the smile. I was careful that he should not.
"I consider that you and your princ.i.p.al have taken an unfair advantage."
"That is between you and me. If you care to raise the question----"
"I have no quarrel with you."
"Then you and Mr. Laurence must treat the misunderstanding of this evening as if it had not been. This will not be difficult, as he will go with me on an excursion to-morrow, now that his--er--engagement with you is off; and the day after, he and I think of leaving Aix altogether, by way of Mont Revard."
This plan arranged itself spontaneously; but as the Boy had ungallantly called Gaeta "a little cat," and I was slightly _blase_ of her dimples, I thought that I might count upon its being carried out.
"What--he will go away?" exclaimed Paolo, all at once a different man.
"He will leave Aix altogether, you say?"
"Yes. You see, we are on our way south. Mr. Laurence merely wanted a glance at Aix _en route_, and the Contessa was kind enough to invite him to her house. It was really nice of her, as he is such a boy."
"You think so? Yes--perhaps. Well, I consent on these terms to forget.
You may tell your princ.i.p.al what I have said."
"I will," I returned. "He will be guided by me, and forget also; though I a.s.sure you, like most of his countrymen, he is a fire-eater--a fire-eater."
This time it was Paolo who volunteered to shake hands.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
CHAPTER XXIII
There is No Such Girl
"She has forgotten my kisses, and I--have forgotten her name."--A.C. SWINBURNE.
I went early in the morning to the villa with the intention of culling the Boy like a wayside flower, and carrying him off to the lake. The hour was unearthly for a morning call, and the windows were still asleep, but I was spared the necessity of raising the echoes with an untimely peal of the bell. Under the red umbrella lounged the Boy, reading with the appearance, at least, of nonchalance. For all he could tell, I might have failed in my mission, and have come to announce the hour fixed for deadly combat; but he was not even pale.
Indeed, I had never seen him rosier, or brighter-eyed.
I sat down on the rustic seat beside him, and with a glance at the veiled windows of the villa, I remarked in a low voice, "It"s all right."
"That goes without saying."
"Why?"
"Because you promised."
"Thanks for the compliment. Have you had your _cafe au lait_?"
"No. I got up early, and thought of walking round to your hotel to see you, but decided I wouldn"t."
"I half expected you."
"I didn"t want to seem too--importunate. I hoped you"d come here."
"Like a promising child, I"ve justified your hopes. Let"s walk down to the Grand Port, to a garden restaurant I remember; and over our coffee, I"ll tell you the story of my diplomatic _coup_. Meanwhile, we"ll discuss Shakespeare and the musical gla.s.ses."
"Anything but the Contessa," said the Boy, springing up, and cramming his panama over his curls. "I shall breathe more freely on the other side of the gate, and I shan"t consider myself out of the sc.r.a.pe until I"m out of her house for good."