Chapter II: A Case of Rapiers

I dreaded being robbed and consequently of perchance losing the duke's letter to Madame d'Amboise--a letter which contained the destiny of my life. I had nothing valuable to lose besides but my life, and, strange to say, I valued it less than my letter. Wrapped in my cloak, I stood with rapier on guard right in the centre of the Quai, while the cavaliers came close up to me. Both were, as I have said, masked, armed, and cloaked; and moreover were taller and, to all appearance, stouter than I. One was singing that gay and lively song in which the people of Lower Normandy still remember the mother of the English conqueror--the wife of Herluin, the Comte de Conteville; and his companion joined vigorously in the gay chorus.

'De Guillaume-le-Conquérant
Chantons l'historiette;
Il nâquit cet illustre enfant
D'une simple amourette.
Le hazard fait souvent les grands:
Vive le fils d'Harlette!

_Normands,
Vive le fils d'Harlette!_'

'Fille d'un simple pelletier
Elle était gentilette:
Robert en galant chevalier,
Vint lui center fleurette;
L'amour égale tous les rangs:
Vive le fils d'Harlette!

_Normands,
Vive le fils d'Harlette!_'

Pausing in his song, the singer came scornfully up to me with one hand on his sword and the other on his moustache, saying,

'Pardieu--you saw one of the most inconstant of God's creatures pass this way?'

'To the point, monsieur,' said I, 'what do you mean?'

'A woman--you saw her?'

'Yes,' I replied, still barring the way with my sword.

'Pretty, and with a modest air which would have deceived the devil himself.'

'Perhaps so.'

'And which way went she?' demanded both imperiously.

'My sword is drawn to answer you,' I replied, considerably ruffled by the brusquerie of their bearing.

'Stay, chevalier,' said one, laughing; 'let the poor man alone--'tis only some bourgeois seized by a fit of valour.'

'Peste, monseigneur, I see by a glance that he is no bourgeois; and where is his lantern?'

'You have drunk like a Swiss to-night, chevalier, and cannot see it.'

'Which way did our little grisette go?' said the other, unsheathing his sword with a threatening air; 'say, say, or pardieu, I will spit you like a sparrow.'

'Right,' added the other, furiously; 'morbleu! this wearies me. Run him through the body if you will--he is only an Italian scaramouche by his patois. Be quick with your work; for, sabre de bois! it will not do for you or me, to be caught brawling at night in the capital of Louis XIII. as if we were at home in Lorraine.'

'I am no Italian,' said I, pressing my blade against his; 'I am a Scottish gentleman, and shall make you pay dearly for this fanfaronade.'

'Peste!' said he, dropping his point for a moment; 'a Garde de Manche?'

'No.'

'Pardieu, chevalier,' exclaimed, the other, who seemed bent on having mischief, ''tis only a Scottish Calvinist, who on his way to the devil, has visited our good city of Paris.

'Vive le fils d'Harlette!

'Then, have at you, monsieur!'

In a moment both our swords were engaged to the hilt; while he, whose title of monseigneur led me to infer that his rank was high, remained with his rapier drawn to see fair play--but he was so tipsy that he could scarcely stand.

Our duel was silent, desperate, and quiet on my part; for I was highly exasperated by the effrontery and daring with which these two wild ruffs, regardless of all consequences, had fastened a quarrel upon me; and I was resolved to punish them both severely; but my antagonist continued to talk and sing while making all his lunges, and as his back was turned to a dim oil lamp that swung behind him, he had considerably the advantage of me, and took care to retain it; yet I had no fear, for the famous Count de Forgatz was not a better swordsman than I.

After all I had undergone in my own country--and this all, the reader shall know ere long--the reflection flashed upon my mind, that Fate would indeed deal hardly with me, if I should be slain, nameless and unknown, in a street brawl, and left dead among the offal of Paris, to be carried away to the Morgue by porters or the watch in the morning. The very thought gave new fury to my heart, and fresh nerve to my arm! The sword of the French chevalier was longer and heavier than mine; but thanks to my Scottish education I was no way his inferior in this desperate game; my slender blade, twisted and span round his like a serpent; and after an engagement of three minutes, every thrust he made was successfully parried.

'Tête Dieu! I came too late to the parry there,' said he, as my point tore up the lace on the breast of his crimson velvet pourpoint, and while the blades clashed and rasped on each other, striking fire in the dark, he sang the last verse of his song.

'Falaise dans sa vielle tour
Vit entrer la fillette,
Et c'est là que le Dieu d'amour
Finit l'historiette;
Anglais, honorez ces amans!
Vive le fils d'Harlette!

_Normands,
Vive le fils d'Harlette!_

'Diable! take care, monsieur, or I am through you--my sword is like a spit in the king's kitchen. Peste! take time, fellow--Death himself could not be more impatient than you. A devil of a thrust that--our little flash in the pan is really becoming quite serious!'

I pressed so close upon him, that once the bowl-hilts of our swords touched and rung; but at a moment, when this gay chevalier, who treated my fencing with such coolness and contempt, slipped his left foot, and consequently raised his guard a little, I lunged furiously within, and drove my sword nearly to the cross guard through his ribs on the right side.

Poor wretch! he uttered a sound something between a sob and a cry, while instinctively I drew back my blade to parry the return his hand could never give me now. His eyes glared and closed, the sword dropped from his fingers, and, deluged in blood, he sunk upon the causeway.

I found myself face to face with a dying man, and this cooled us all.

'Monsieur,' said his companion, hurriedly, 'we have been to blame; you are a stranger, fly!'

'Whither?' I asked, wildly; 'I have already lost my way.'

'Morbleu! you will find it soon enough; to the Bastille, if the watch overtake you!'

This dreadful word _Bastille_ gave me fresh resolution.

'Away, away, monsieur!' gasped the wounded man, half choked in his blood; 'take this ring--' he struggled to get it off his finger; 'oh, Monseigneur le Prince, give him this--my ring; the lieutenant of the watch is my friend--away! I have known a man branded with the fleur de lys, and broken alive on the wheel, for less than this.'

'If taken, show the ring of the chevalier to the lieutenant, and you will be allowed to pass.'

'But we must see each other again--'

'Trust to heaven for that,' gasped the wounded man, adding generously, 'away! I hear footsteps--'tis the watch!'

'Forgive me, Chevalier,' said I, trembling with emotion, 'but this quarrel was not of my seeking.'

'From my soul I forgive you, but begone.'

'Farewell!'

And with this word I turned and fled, just as a mounted patrol of the watch turned the corner of the Rue de la Mortellerie, and entered the Place de la Grève.