“Do not forget,” the elder man said to
him, “that I want to have a little talk with
you; it is more than a wish, it is a duty.”
“I also have a serious duty to attend to,”
replied the young Count. “Excuse me if
I have to keep you waiting.”
Albert went immediately to his mother, who was taking
tea with the Princess. He embraced her with such
tenderness that she was astonished at his ardour.
The Princess held out her hand.
“Do not wait too long to realize your happiness,
Albert. You know how all your friends will rejoice
with you.”
He kissed her hand again, and went to join his two
seconds at the gate of the kitchen garden.
The crowd had all dispersed to catch the last train.
The meeting at the “Three Roads” was for
seven. They saw the Duke de Castel-Montjoie from
a distance. He had had some difficulty in making
his escape, having had to help his mother, the Duchess,
with the last farewells. He bowed to the Count
and led the way by a little door to the inn stable.
He was carrying two sets of swords, done up in two
cases of green cloth.
The Duke and his seconds were already there.
Only the Doctor had not arrived. Morlay-La-Branche
and Albert bowed to each other and got ready.
The little bowers, where the habitues of the
inn often ate their midday meals, served them as dressing-rooms.
The Doctor arrived out of breath, with the information
that he had not been able to get a confrere
and would have to serve both sides. The umpire,
in company with the seconds, chose an alley of proper
dimensions.
The adversaries were placed opposite, sword in hand.
The Duke de Castel-Montjoie touched the points of
their swords and said, “Go!”
The conditions of the duel were very strict.
The first round should last three minutes, should
neither of the adversaries be touched.
“Halt!” cried the Duke de Castel-Montjoie.
One minute was allowed them to breathe.
“Go,” said the umpire, again joining the
sword tips.
This time Albert made a furious drive against the
Duke. There was a moment of suspense. The
Duke did not give way. His arm shot out and the
unfortunate Count turned completely round and fell.
Charles de Morlay’s sword had pierced beneath
the right arm pit, entering the lung. The blood
streamed from the wounded man’s mouth. The
Doctor and the seconds carried him into the room which
Jeanette had prepared. The Duke, sorely moved,
followed them. Albert saw him and held out a hand
which the Duke pressed gently, bending his head.
The Count signed to the seconds to withdraw.
“I was wrong, Duke,” he murmured.
“My love had blinded my wisdom with the heavy
mask of egoism. On the threshold of eternity the
truth seems clearer. Forgive me, De Morlay, as
I forgive you.”
He choked. The Doctor came forward. The
Duke, as pale as the dying man, pressed that loyal
hand for the last time, and withdrew.
