For a long moment, in speechless horror, both women
stared at him, until, perceiving them, blankest surprise
invaded his stern face.
In that moment, with a long shuddering sigh Aline
sank swooning to the carriage floor behind Mme.
de Plougastel.
INFERENCES
By fast driving Andre-Louis had reached the ground
some minutes ahead of time, notwithstanding the slight
delay in setting out. There he had found M. de
La Tour d’Azyr already awaiting him, supported
by a M. d’Ormesson, a swarthy young gentleman
in the blue uniform of a captain in the Gardes du
Corps.
Andre-Louis had been silent and preoccupied throughout
that drive. He was perturbed by his last interview
with Mademoiselle de Kercadiou and the rash inferences
which he had drawn as to her motives.
“Decidedly,” he had said, “this
man must be killed.”
Le Chapelier had not answered him. Almost, indeed,
had the Breton shuddered at his compatriot’s
cold-bloodedness. He had often of late thought
that this fellow Moreau was hardly human. Also
he had found him incomprehensibly inconsistent.
When first this spadassinicide business had been
proposed to him, he had been so very lofty and disdainful.
Yet, having embraced it, he went about it at times
with a ghoulish flippancy that was revolting, at times
with a detachment that was more revolting still.
Their preparations were made quickly and in silence,
yet without undue haste or other sign of nervousness
on either side. In both men the same grim determination
prevailed. The opponent must be killed; there
could be no half-measures here. Stripped each
of coat and waistcoat, shoeless and with shirt-sleeves
rolled to the elbow, they faced each other at last,
with the common resolve of paying in full the long
score that stood between them. I doubt if either
of them entertained a misgiving as to what must be
the issue.
Beside them, and opposite each other, stood Le Chapelier
and the young captain, alert and watchful.
“Allez, messieurs!”
The slender, wickedly delicate blades clashed together,
and after a momentary glizade were whirling, swift
and bright as lightnings, and almost as impossible
to follow with the eye. The Marquis led the
attack, impetuously and vigorously, and almost at once
Andre-Louis realized that he had to deal with an opponent
of a very different mettle from those successive duellists
of last week, not excluding La Motte-Royau, of terrible
reputation.
Here was a man whom much and constant practice had
given extraordinary speed and a technique that was
almost perfect. In addition, he enjoyed over
Andre-Louis physical advantages of strength and length
of reach, which rendered him altogether formidable.
And he was cool, too; cool and self-contained; fearless
and purposeful. Would anything shake that calm,
wondered Andre-Louis?
