Chapter XXII: The Duel and Its Results.--A Token of Victory.--Tobie's Reward

Albert and Tobie arrived at Porte Saint-Mandé as the clock struck ten. They alighted from their cab, and saw a carriage a few yards away.

"The count is ahead of me," said Albert; "but it's all right; we are in time. Yes, I see two gentlemen walking along the avenue yonder. Those are our adversaries. Come, Tobie, forward!"

"What do you say? _our_ adversaries!" cried Pigeonnier, walking as if he had on three pairs of trousers; "I have no adversaries; I didn't come here to fight!"

"Yes, yes, that's all right, don't be alarmed. In old times, the seconds used to fight; and if you want to follow the example of the _raffinés_,--under Louis XIII, for instance, they sometimes fought six against six; those were pleasure parties, on my word!"

"A delicious kind of pleasure! I have no admiration for the manners of those days."

"Well, Tobie, come on, for heaven's sake! What the devil! are your trousers too tight for you? you act as if you couldn't walk!"

"Yes, they cut me; they hurt me terribly."

Count Dahlborne's second was a Swede, a friend of his, who was as tall and stiff as he; he had been in Paris only a few days, and did not understand French, his ability to speak that tongue being thus far limited to the phrases: _Oui, monsieur_, and _bien obligé_.

Albert went forward to meet his opponent, and they saluted each other with much courtesy.

"Allow me to present Monsieur de Mulberg," said the count, waving his hand toward his second.

Albert, assuming that it was a Swedish custom to introduce one's second, stepped back, and said, indicating Tobie, who persisted in remaining in the background:

"And I have the honor of presenting Monsieur Tobie Pigeonnier."

The salutations were repeated, and Monsieur de Mulberg walked up to Tobie and held out his hand, saying:

"_Bien obligé_,[N] monsieur!"

"What's that? it isn't worth while," rejoined Tobie, allowing his hand to be shaken with a decidedly ill grace.

Albert pointed to a path at the right, and said to the count:

"Let us go in this direction; we shall be able to find a place where we shall not be seen or disturbed."

They all followed Albert, Tobie still in the rear and walking as if he were very uncomfortable. Albert halted in an isolated open space, surrounded by dense bushes, saying:

"It seems to me that we shall be very comfortable here."

Count Dahlborne nodded his head in assent, and turned to his friend.

"Arrange the preliminaries with monsieur, Monsieur de Mulberg," he said.

Monsieur de Mulberg walked gravely to Tobie, and began to talk Swedish with him, offering his pistols. Tobie poked him in the stomach, and said:

"Look you! I believe you agree with me that this affair can be arranged. What is the difficulty? I'll bet that it's some foolish trifle."

Monsieur de Mulberg, who was a very ceremonious individual, was much offended because the little man presumed to poke him in the stomach. He frowned, uttered a violent oath, stamped on the ground, and handed Tobie a pistol, exclaiming:

"_Oui, monsieur, bien obligé._"

Tobie hastily drew back, saying to his principal:

"How do you expect me to agree to anything with this gentleman? He talks some language I never heard before, and looks all the time as if he meant to fire at me."

"Look you, monsieur le comte," said Albert, "I fancy that we can arrange matters better than our seconds can. Let us stand thirty paces apart; we will each walk forward ten paces when your second claps his hands, and fire when we please. Is that satisfactory to you?"

"Perfectly."

"I will take my place.--Tobie, count off thirty paces, starting from here."

Tobie acted as if he were uncertain whether he would do it or not; but he finally decided to do so, and made each of his paces twice the usual length.

"You want to fight, do you?" he said to himself; "and you don't think anything about breakfasting. All right! get it over at once! To think that that Monsieur Vermoncey doesn't come! The messenger probably didn't understand me."

The distance being marked off and the adversaries in their places, Monsieur de Mulberg clapped his hands, and Tobie lay flat on the ground, muttering:

"Nobody knows what may happen! Unskilful men have been known to shoot their seconds, but I don't suppose they'll aim at the ground."

The combatants walked forward two or three steps, then fired at almost the same instant. Albert received the bullet in his coat collar. But Count Dahlborne was less fortunate; he was shot in the left arm, near the shoulder, but did not fall.

"Are you wounded, monsieur le comte?" asked Albert, running up to him.

"Yes--in the arm--the shoulder, I believe. Oh! it's a trifle. I don't see why we should go any further. But you are a fine young fellow, and I consider it my duty to tell you what Madame Baldimer whispered to me last night when she left us."

"Ah! she said something to you, did she? And to me, too."

"She whispered these words in my ear: 'This young man is constantly at my heels; find some way to rid me of his presence.'"

Albert turned pale when he heard what his fair enslaver thought of him.

"I give you my word of honor that she said that to me," added the count.

"I believe you, especially as she said to me, speaking of you: 'That man is insufferable to me; try to rid me of him.'"

"She's a woman who isn't worth having two respectable men fight for her. I abandon the field to you, monsieur; I shall go no more to her house."

"Oh! my love has vanished, monsieur le comte; I mean to go there once more, simply to bid her farewell and tell her that I am no longer her dupe; then I shall never see her again."

During this conversation, Albert supported the count, while Monsieur de Mulberg went to fetch the carriage. As for Tobie, immediately after the exchange of shots, he sprang to his feet and ran after Monsieur Dahlborne's second, crying:

"It won't amount to anything--a wound in the arm--it isn't dangerous."

But Monsieur de Mulberg, to whom it had seemed very strange that their opponent's second should throw himself flat on his stomach as the shots were fired, bestowed a wrathful glance upon him, and turned away, muttering:

"_Bien obligé_, monsieur."

"Go to the devil! You make me sick!" said Pigeonnier to himself, as he walked toward the cab. "One would say that he was angry because his friend isn't killed!"

Monsieur de Mulberg arrived with the carriage, and Albert assisted the count to get in; then they parted, with a shake of the hand.

Albert went to join Tobie, who was already in their cab.

"Well," exclaimed the latter, when his friend came in sight, "I trust that we are satisfied! Victors! and not a scratch! That is a very agreeable ending. We shall eat breakfast enough for four."

"Oh! I am indignant beyond words! I am furious!" said Albert, as he entered the cab.

"The deuce you are! I don't understand at all. Are you furious because you aren't wounded?"

"Bah! I am not talking about the duel! It's that woman I am thinking of! that woman who has mocked at me and my love! who hoped, perhaps, that I would be killed!"

"Oho! so it was on a woman's account that you fought. They have the very devil in them, these women, to insist upon it that we should all fight for them!"

"I am going to her now, to confound her.--Whip up your horse, driver; you may drop me at Rue Neuve-Vivienne.--Do you, Tobie, go at once and find that messenger, and get my letter. You will understand that it must not be delivered to my father, for it would cause him unnecessary anxiety."

Tobie made no reply. He recalled what he had told Paul to do, and wondered what the result would be.

"Oh! these women! these women!" cried Albert; "I am utterly unable to understand this one. What coquetry! what perfidy!"

"It's Madame Baldimer, isn't it?"

"Yes; it is she! Oh! I will tell the whole world of her shameful conduct! Our homage is not enough for her; she must have our blood!"

"Thanks! she shan't have mine; I wouldn't prick myself with a pin for her. But, by the way--what about our duel--concerning Madame Plays?"

"Tell her that you killed me."

"Killed you!"

"You can safely say that, as I am going to leave Paris for several months. I want to divert my thoughts; above all things, I want to forget that woman who has made a plaything of my affection. I shall start this very evening."

"All right; it's agreed that I have killed you, that you are dead. She will find out later that it isn't true; but what do I care? when she has once accorded me her favors, she can't take them back. Such things, when they're once given, aren't to be taken back. To be sure, although they give them away, they still have them; that is very agreeable for those who like to be generous."

The cab had reached Rue Neuve-Vivienne. Albert alighted in front of Madame Baldimer's house, and said to Tobie:

"Now, go at once and find the messenger, so that he won't carry the letter to my father."

"Yes, yes! I will go. But I say, Albert, you promised to lend me--you know--the money to redeem my olive."

"Oh, yes! Well, come to the house soon--this evening; I will give you the money."

"I won't fail. By the way, you will gratify me by not telling the other fellows that----"

Albert was not listening; he had hastened to the stairs, and he ran up without taking breath. When he reached Madame Baldimer's door, he rang. The maid opened the door.

"Your mistress--where is she? I must speak with her instantly. I absolutely must!"

The tone in which the young man spoke, his agitated manner, the pallor of his cheeks, alarmed the maid, who replied:

"Madame is at home, monsieur, and I would certainly tell her that you are here, but--at this moment--I don't dare to go in--because----"

"Because--well, go on."

"Because madame is not alone. There's a gentleman with her."

"A gentleman! What gentleman? It can't be Count Dahlborne, for I have just left him, and he is wounded."

"No, monsieur; it isn't Count Dahlborne."

"Well, then, who is it? Tell me, Rosa. Here, take this, and conceal nothing from me."

Albert resorted to the irresistible argument; he took several gold pieces from his pocket and put them in the servant's hand, and thereby completely loosed her tongue; indeed, she had a tender regard for the young man, because he was an exceedingly comely youth, and with many women, especially young women, that, too, is an irresistible argument.

"Well, monsieur," replied Rosa, speaking very low, "madame is with that tall young man--one of your friends, I think, as I have met him sometimes walking with you."

"What! can it be Célestin?"

"That's the name--it is Monsieur Célestin."

"And he comes here? Madame Baldimer receives him?"

"Oh, yes! quite often, too."

"Is he her lover?"

"No, no! oh! as to that, I assure you that he isn't anything of the kind; not that he doesn't want to be, for he makes love to madame; but, between you and me, I think she's fooling him."

"He comes to see her! and he never told me!"

"_Pardi!_ he'd be mighty careful not to, as he comes and tells madame everything you do; and, between you and me, I think that's all madame receives him for."

"The villain! can it be possible? play the spy on me!"

"And this morning, only a moment ago, I heard--because, you see, when I'm near the door, I can hear very well without listening; I have sharp ears--I heard Monsieur Célestin tell Madame Baldimer that you were to fight a duel this morning with Count Dahlborne; that he was watching last night in the street, and heard you say: 'Until to-morrow, at ten o'clock, at Porte Saint-Mandé.'"

"Ah! this is too much!"

And Albert rushed toward the salon, paying no heed to Rosa, who besought him not to betray her; he strode rapidly through two rooms to the boudoir, opened the door, and found himself in the presence of Madame Baldimer and his intimate friend Célestin.

The lovely widow was half reclining on a couch, listening to Monsieur Célestin, who sat on a chair a few feet away, apparently talking with much earnestness.

At sight of Albert, both were petrified; but in Célestin's case, it was simply regret at being surprised in Madame Baldimer's house; whereas, in her case, it was consternation and rage at the certainty that her hopes were crushed.

"It is I," said Albert, throwing himself into a chair; "I am sure that you did not expect me; madame flattered herself, no doubt, that Count Dahlborne had relieved her of my presence, as she begged him to do last night, after making a similar request of me, in a whisper, with respect to him."

The fair American turned ghastly pale, while Monsieur Célestin rose and took his hat.

"As it happens, my dear friend," he said, "I learned that you were to fight a duel this morning, and I came here to tell madame, because, knowing that she has a--most affectionate regard for you, I thought that--that she might perhaps prevent the meeting."

"Why don't you say, also, that it is because you are in the habit of coming here to report to madame everything I do, and that, abusing my confidence in you, you have been false to our friendship in the hope that that would serve your love."

Célestin bit his lips and lost something of his assurance.

"Oh! upon my word," he faltered, "what an idea! Someone has slandered me. I am not capable---- But you probably have much to say to each other. I do not wish to disturb your tête-à-tête. Au revoir, Albert!--my respects, madame!"

And Célestin left the room, his departure being apparently unnoticed by the two persons he addressed.

Madame Baldimer kept her eyes fixed on the floor, and seemed to be absorbed by the emotion caused by Albert's unexpected arrival. He gazed earnestly at that woman whose beauty had set his heart on fire, and tried to find in the expression of her face something that betrayed the falseness of her heart.

After a prolonged scrutiny of her features, which led to no discovery, unless it were this--that a perfectly regular face affords much less scope than another for the observations of the moralist, Albert turned his eyes elsewhere, and chance willed that they should fall on Madame Baldimer's feet, which, at that moment, she had not remembered to keep out of sight, as she usually did.

We have already said that her foot was the fair American's weak point, and that, like the peacock, her pride did not attach to that part of her person, which, for that reason, she almost never showed.

Albert was amazed at the sight of that broad, flat foot, so entirely out of harmony with the lady's slender figure; and the longer he looked at it, the more conscious he became of a feeling of something like satisfaction, of well-being; his heart seemed to be relieved of a weight; his anger vanished, and he ended by laughing heartily, saying:

"Mon Dieu! I was mad! Gad! if I had only seen it sooner!"

Madame Baldimer looked up when she heard Albert laugh, and saw that his eyes were fastened on her feet. A deep flush overspread her face, she hurriedly rearranged her dress, so that it covered even the soles of her shoes; but it was too late, the effect was wrought. Albert rose and bowed to the fair widow, saying in a mocking tone:

"On my honor, madame, if I had seen them sooner, I assure you that I would not have fought for you!"

Madame Baldimer's eyes gleamed with a furious expression difficult to describe. Having said this much,--and he could have wreaked no more cruel vengeance on a coquette,--Albert left the house and hurried to his own home.

At sight of him, the concierge uttered a joyful exclamation, which was echoed by one of his father's servants, who was in the courtyard.

"Well, what's the matter?" queried Albert; "why does my presence produce this effect on you?"

"Oh! monsieur, is it really you? What joy!"

"We were terribly afraid you were dead, monsieur----"

"That you had been killed in a duel----"

"Ah! how happy monsieur your father will be when he sees you--he was so anxious, so distressed, when he went away!"

"How did my father know that I had a duel for this morning? Who could have told him?"

"A messenger, who came with a letter; and we heard Monsieur Vermoncey say, when he was coming downstairs: 'If only I arrive in time to prevent this duel, and nothing has happened to my son!'"

Albert was grieved that the affair should have come to his father's ears, for he was well aware of his great love for him, and he realized how anxious he must be at that moment; but he did not understand why the messenger had brought his letter, as Tobie should have found him in ample time to countermand the order.

"Where did he go to look for me?" asked Albert. "I didn't mention in my letter where we were to fight, and the messenger couldn't have known that."

The concierge and the servant had no idea; they could only tell what they knew: that Monsieur Vermoncey was very anxious, very much agitated; that he was talking to himself aloud when he came downstairs; that when he was in the street, he stopped, and, after talking a few seconds with the messenger, sent him to call a cab; and that, when it came, they both got in and drove away very fast.

Albert did not know what steps to take to find his father, for he feared that, while he was looking for him in one direction, Monsieur Vermoncey would be prosecuting his search in a diametrically opposite direction. However, as he could not remain at rest when he thought of the suffering he had caused his father, he sent for a cab, and had determined to scour the neighborhood of Vincennes and Saint-Mandé, when the servant, who was standing at the door, cried out:

"Here he is, monsieur! I know the cab, and I can see monsieur your father and the messenger inside. Here he is!"

A moment later, a cab did, in fact, stop in front of the house. Albert was in the street, making signs by which his father might recognize him. Monsieur Vermoncey uttered a joyful cry, and, leaping from the carriage, threw himself into his son's arms and held him to his heart for a long, long time. If you have ever thought that you had lost the object of your affection, the being who, more than any other, makes life dear to you, you will realize to the full the bliss of recovering him and holding him in your arms. You fear lest that bliss is only a lie, and you feel that you must prolong it to the utmost in order to make sure that it is real.

Paul's eyes were wet with tears when he saw Albert in his father's arms. He, too, was happy that nothing had happened to the young man whose father was so devotedly attached to him. And yet, there was always a strain of sadness in his feelings when he saw a child caressed by its parents.

At last, Monsieur Vermoncey, being a little calmer, started to go upstairs with his son, and Paul was about to leave the house; but Albert's father, noticing it, said to him:

"Come, my friend; come upstairs with us."

The young messenger obeyed, and followed Monsieur Vermoncey and his son to their apartments.

There Albert tried to understand what had happened; he asked Paul why, instead of following his instructions, he had neglected to wait two hours before bringing to Monsieur Vermoncey the letter he had given him. The messenger told what Tobie had said to him, and Albert angrily stamped on the floor, crying:

"That Tobie must always put his foot in it; he is the cause of all your anxiety."

"This young man," said Monsieur Vermoncey, pointing to Paul, "having noticed that you drove along the boulevards toward Porte Saint-Antoine, I thought that your duel would probably take place at Vincennes. We drove there in a very short time. After appointing a place of meeting, we beat up the woods, I and this good fellow--who seconded me with a zeal which I cannot praise too highly! We met at the appointed place, tired out and no wiser than before. Being convinced that you were not to fight at Vincennes, I was about to start for Romainville, when this young man advised me to inquire first at Saint-Mandé. There I learned that you had been seen, and that the duel had evidently taken place, for a wounded man had been taken away in a carriage, going at a very slow pace. But was it you, or was it your opponent? that, it was impossible for me to find out; so I decided to come back here, suffering torments of anxiety which you can well imagine. But here you are! I ought to reprove you, but I like to think that you will remember the torture I have suffered to-day, and that you will not subject me to such misery again."

While Albert promised his father to be more prudent in the future, Monsieur Vermoncey went to his secretary, took from it ten napoleons, and handed them to Paul.

"Here, my friend," he said, "accept this from me. What you have done for me to-day cannot be paid for, I know; for I have found in you what we often seek in vain among people who claim to be our friends: a man who understood my distress, who shared it, and who did everything in his power to relieve it. And it was not selfish interest that guided you; no, it was your heart alone; for I saw tears of joy fall from your eyes when you perceived my son in the distance. You are kind-hearted and susceptible to noble sentiments; you must be a worthy fellow and a blessing to your parents; take this as a souvenir of this day."

Paul was deeply moved and could hardly make out to say, in faltering tones:

"But this is too much, monsieur; I was paid beforehand--I do not want any more; I am so happy to have been useful to you."

Monsieur Vermoncey took the young man's hand, and, while pressing it affectionately, placed the money in it.

"Come, come! accept it as a favor to me; you will grieve me if you refuse. Take the money to your mother, so that she too may be happy to-day."

Paul lowered his eyes without replying, and Monsieur Vermoncey continued:

"By the way, my friend, where is your stand?"

"Rue du Helder, monsieur, at the corner of the boulevard. Monsieur your son knows me very well."

"Are you his regular messenger?"

"No, monsieur; but my comrade Sans-Cravate is; his stand is--not far from mine."

"That is true," said Albert; "and if I had found him this morning, I probably should have employed him to do my errand."

"Well," continued Monsieur Vermoncey, "hereafter I propose to employ no other messenger than you. What is your name?"

"Paul, monsieur."

"Very well, Paul, you understand, you are to be my messenger. You are not sorry, I trust, are you?"

"Far from it, monsieur; and I will do all that I can to deserve your confidence."

"I am sure of it, my friend; and now--au revoir!"

Paul bowed low and left the room, touched to the quick by the interest manifested by Monsieur Vermoncey, and with his heart filled with a strange joy, the cause of which he was at a loss to understand.

When Albert was alone with his father, he embraced him again.

"You were right," he cried, "perfectly right! when you told me that some love intrigues were very dangerous, that there were women who led us much further than we meant to go; and when you told me to distrust my friend Célestin, whose manner did not attract you. Yes, father; you judged him fairly. My friend Célestin is a traitor, who deceived me and tried to rob me of the woman I was trying to overcome; and as for her,--as false as and even more treacherous than Célestin, as she had not love for an excuse,--she pretended to love me, gave me the most alluring hopes, and secretly requested a Swedish count, who was paying court to her, to rid her of me as soon as possible."

"What infernal perfidy! Can it be that women treat you so--young as you are, and amiable, and made to please!"

"Yes, father. But not all of them, luckily."

"Who is this woman, pray, whose heart is so black?"

"An American; or, at least, a person who has lately come from America; for I believe that she is a native-born Frenchwoman; an alleged widow,--very beautiful, I must admit,--who calls herself Madame Baldimer."

"Baldimer; I have never heard that name before."

"She has been in Paris only a year, and frequents a certain--rather eccentric social circle, which is not that which you frequent. Well, I had the good luck to inflict only a trifling wound on the Swedish count, with whom she had the cleverness to involve me in a duel--a most excellent gentleman, who, like myself, has sworn to have no more to do with Madame Baldimer. I have told my friend Célestin what I think of him. And now, father, to enable me to forget entirely this affair and the woman who caused it, let me travel a few months; it will do me good; it will force me to break these Parisian habits and intimacies, which are not all beneficial, as I have had a chance to find out. I shall return a new man, refreshed and sensible. You will let me go, won't you?"

"Yes, my dear boy; although it is painful to me to be deprived of your presence, I am not selfish enough to object to a journey which cannot fail to do you good. To leave Paris for some time will certainly be beneficial to you; and it will be to your advantage to see a little of the world. But you won't be away too long, will you?"

"Two or three months at most."

"Where do you mean to go?"

"I have no idea; I would like to have an opportunity to start at once."

"Mon Dieu! if you care to see Normandie, my doctor came to see me last night, and offered to take me there with him, without expense, in a comfortable post chaise which one of his patients has sent him. He starts to-day, at three o'clock."

"To-day, at three o'clock. Parbleu! that suits me exactly. As well Normandie as any other place. At all events, when I have had enough of it, I can go somewhere else. Quickly, father! give me a line to your doctor, telling him that he will have a travelling companion; meanwhile, I will make what preparations are indispensable, put some money in my pocket--and off we go!"

"You still have some money, I trust?"

"Oh! yes, father; of course, I haven't spent the ten thousand francs you gave me a few days ago."

Albert bit his lips as he spoke; the memory of the cashmere shawl made him sigh; but he soon banished the thought, and went to make his preparations for departure, while Monsieur Vermoncey wrote to his doctor.

While all this was happening, Tobie Pigeonnier had not remained inactive. On leaving Albert, he returned to Paul's stand; but the messenger was not there.

"What good would it do if I should wait for him? I told him to carry Monsieur Vermoncey his son's letter at once. It's too late now for me to tell him not to carry it. I did it with the best intentions. Papa Vermoncey must have received the letter a long while ago; he must think that his son is dead now, and probably he is in terrible distress, scurrying about the suburbs to find some trace of his child; it's a calamity, and I am very sorry; but, after all, when he sees his Albert again, he'll find out that he isn't dead, and he'll be consoled. So I don't need to worry any more about that affair. I must give a little thought to my own concerns now. Albert has given me leave to say that I fought a duel with him and killed him; that is delicious; he is going to travel for some time, my lie won't be discovered right away, and, before it is, my love will be crowned with its greenest myrtle. O superb Plays! thou shalt be mine! I quiver with joy at the thought. But before I call on her, I must go home and make a most careful toilet."

Tobie bent his steps toward his abode, but, before he arrived there, he recalled the fact that he had not breakfasted as he had hoped to do in the capacity of second in a duel; his stomach told him that he must satisfy its cravings before attending to anything else. He felt in his pocket, and exclaimed:

"_Fichtre!_ I have fifteen francs with me, my whole fortune at this moment. Suppose I treat myself to a _déjeuner à la fourchette_ of the right sort--why not? Albert is going to lend me five hundred francs--to redeem my olive; but, after all, I'm not obliged to go and redeem it to-day. The gentleman with white eyebrows, who is very rich, can afford to wait a few days more. Meanwhile, I'll go to see Aunt Abraham, with my five hundred francs in my pocket, and I'll take care to jingle them so she will think I'm doing a big business, and then perhaps she'll make up her mind to give me an interest in her business. I'll breakfast at the Café Anglais. I'm hungry enough to treat myself handsomely."

And the little dandy, swaggering as if he had his cane, and all puffed up with the good fortune that he anticipated, entered the Café Anglais with his nose in the air, seated himself at a table, called the waiter in a loud voice, ordered oysters, kidneys, chicken _à la tartare_, and beaune première, with the assured air of a man who cares nothing for the expense and whose only thought is to breakfast bountifully. He was served promptly, he ate with zest, his appetite was even keener after the oysters, and became more imperative than ever after the kidneys. Tobie denied it nothing, until it was completely satisfied. Not until he had eaten for an hour and a half, almost without intermission, did he decide to stop. It was high time; his bill amounted to fourteen francs fifty centimes. He generously gave the waiter fifteen centimes, put the remaining seven sous in his pocket, and went to his lodgings, his brain excited by thoughts of love, and by the bottle of beaune he had consumed.

Tobie passed his clothes in review--an operation which required much less time than he could have wished. After a careful examination of his three waistcoats, his two pairs of trousers, and his only coat, he put on those which he judged to be in the best condition; then he curled and crimped and anointed himself, and saturated himself with eau de cologne; as he had no other perfume, he drenched his handkerchief with essence of lemon used to remove stains; the result being that his concierge, when he passed, mistook him for a bowl of Roman punch.

Thus arrayed and anointed, young Pigeonnier repaired to Madame Plays's abode.

"She accepted me for her chevalier," he said to himself; "I will go and tell her that she is fully avenged. She will be delighted with me, and she will reward my valor by the sweetest caresses. By the way, what did I kill Albert with? With a pistol? no, that is too commonplace. With a sword--I like that better; it's more after the style of the chevaliers of old; I split his head open--no, I pierced his breast with a sword-thrust. Ah! here is her house; I must not forget the directions she gave me: the little staircase at the right; I am to go up to the first floor, and say: 'I am Tobie,' and I shall be admitted at once. But, mon Dieu! it just occurs to me; she told me to bring her a token of my victory; sapristi! I forgot all about that; what, in heaven's name, shall I take her for a token?"

Tobie walked back and forth in front of Madame Plays's house, scratching his head in his efforts to think what he could carry her in default of Albert's ears, which she herself had suggested. He searched his pockets, but could find only his handkerchief perfumed with lemon, and the seven sous remaining from his fifteen francs; there was nothing which could possibly be produced as a token of victory.

Tobie had almost determined to present himself without a token, when, as he looked about, he spied at some distance one of the enormous rolls, or _carrots_, which are commonly suspended over the doors of tobacco shops. It arrested the young man's attention, and an idea entered his mind, which he caught on the wing and clung to. He walked rapidly to the tobacco shop, and arrived there still in possession of his idea, which he proceeded to put into execution.

The dealers in tobacco are almost all women, and Tobie said to the woman behind the counter:

"A cigar, madame, if you please."

"There they are, monsieur; take your choice."

"Oh! I want something better than those; I must have a very fine five-sou cigar; one can get a very fine cigar for five sous."

"Yes, monsieur; here are some; but if you want a still larger one, we make them for ten sous; they're magnificent--almost as big as carrots. Would monsieur like one for ten sous?"

"No, no! that's too big; this one will do very well."

Tobie selected a five-sou cigar, and had it carefully wrapped in paper, to the amazement of the dealer, because a man who buys one cigar ordinarily begins by lighting it. At last, armed with his cigar, which he placed in his pocket, he returned to Madame Plays's house.

"Now I am all right," he said to himself; "I have all I require, I have my token of victory. Albert almost always has a cigar in his mouth, and I'll say that I found this one in his pocket and took it. What a bright idea that was of mine! O suggestive carrot! how glad I am that I happened to see you!"

Tobie entered the house, stalked by the concierge, calling to him, with a superb air: "Madame Plays!" ascended the little staircase, rang, and said in a cajoling tone to the maid who opened the door:

"Be good enough to announce me to madame; she will receive me at once."

"What is monsieur's name?"

"Tobie. I am Tobie. Just say to your enchanting mistress: 'Madame, it is Tobie,' and she will understand."

The maid turned on her heel, muttering:

"Tobie! Tobie! that's a funny name. Seems to me, madame used to have a little dog of that name."

Madame Plays was before her mirror, trying a new way of arranging her hair on top of her head, which was supposed to make her look like a Spartan woman. Madame Plays was much inclined toward Greek styles; and ever since she had heard that the women of Sparta used to dance a dance called _Bibasis_, which consisted principally in kicking themselves behind with their heels, she had passed part of the day practising that dance.

"If there are idiots who say that it's nothing more than the cancan," she would say to herself, "I'll just answer: 'You are donkeys; it's the _Bibasis_, an old dance of the Greeks revived.'"

When her maid announced Tobie, she started.

"Tobie!" she exclaimed. "Oh! yes, to be sure! I had forgotten all about him. Let Tobie come in; let him come in at once!"

The maid ushered the young man into the room, and retired. When he entered the boudoir, Pigeonnier deemed it fitting to assume an air at once tender and melancholy; so he stepped forward and saluted Madame Plays with an expression bordering on the tragic.

"It's you, is it, monsieur?" she said. "But I remember, you were my chevalier. Well! what news do you bring me?"

Tobie struck an attitude, and replied:

"It is, in very truth, as your chevalier that I present myself, madame; you ordered me to avenge your wrongs by fighting with Albert, and I have obeyed you."

"Oho! indeed! you have fought a duel with him, have you?"

"Yes, madame."

"When was that?"

"This morning, at Saint-Mandé. A thousand witnesses can inform you that I went there with Albert."

"And what did you fight with?"

"Swords, madame."

"Well! what was the result?"

"I fulfilled your wishes to the utmost, madame; you wished me to kill Albert, and I have killed him--a sword-thrust in the breast; he died on the spot. I shed tears over my victory, I am not ashamed to admit it.--But as I placed my hand on the poor fellow's heart, to find out whether he still breathed, I felt this cigar in his pocket, and took it. You desired a token of my victory: this is the only one that I can offer you."

Madame Plays listened to Tobie with the air of one who could not believe what she heard; but when he had concluded, she rushed at him with a furious gesture and cried, snatching the cigar from his hand:

"You have killed him! Can it be possible? such a lovely boy! the only man I have ever loved! Yes, I was saying to myself this morning: 'I have never loved any man but him.'--And you had the villainy to kill him! and you come to tell me of it, you murderer!"

Tobie was utterly crushed.

"But, madame," he faltered, "I simply carried out your orders; you ordered me to avenge you."

"That is not true! I couldn't have said that. Or if I did, I was mad, and you shouldn't have paid any attention to it."

"But, madame----"

"To think of killing Albert! such a handsome brunette, and such lovely eyes! Take yourself out of my sight, monsieur--go instantly, or I won't answer for the effects of my anger. Go, I say, you monster, you villain!"

"What, madame! when I fought solely to avenge you----"

"Oh! what infamy! to say that it was I who---- Leave the room, monsieur!"

Seeing that Tobie did not stir, Madame Plays pushed him roughly toward the door. The little fellow, who was nearly overturned by the shock, clung to a chair, and could not make up his mind what to do. Meanwhile, the robust lady opened the door herself, and, while Pigeonnier's back was turned, kicked him with all her force.

"Oho! you refuse to go, do you?"

By that means, Tobie was at last ejected from the room, and the door was instantly closed and locked upon him. He flew into a rage in his turn, and muttered angrily as he descended the stairs:

"Sacredieu! this is too much! By heaven! I have had enough of that woman; a slap in the face the other day, and now a kick! What under heaven will it be the next time? So she is mad because I have killed Albert! She plays little Hermione, and treats me like Orestes. To be sure, Orestes didn't receive a kick in the rump; she has interpolated that.--So you mourn Albert's death, do you?--Very good! just to punish her, I won't tell her it isn't true. _Bigre!_ what a love affair! I don't want any more of it, thanks!"

Holding his hand to the injured part, Tobie betook himself to Albert's house, to get the five hundred francs which he had promised to lend him, and which might well act as an antidote to the affront he had undergone.

But when he inquired for his friend, the servant said:

"Monsieur Albert started for Normandie half an hour ago."

"He has gone away, and left nothing for me?"

"No, monsieur."

Tobie was tempted to beat his brains out against the wall.

"This caps the climax," he said to himself, as he walked away; "I have two sous left! Perhaps I had better go and jingle them in Aunt Abraham's ear, to induce her to make me a partner in her business!"

_THE RENDEZVOUS AT THE CAFÉ_

_Another person had, in fact, entered the café. It was a man of twenty-six or twenty-seven years, of medium height, well set up, with dark brown hair, a slightly flushed face, sharp eyes, turned-up nose, and a huge mouth--everything, in short, which denotes a jovial companion._]

NOVELS

BY

Paul de Kock

VOLUME IV

SANS-CRAVATE;

OR,

THE MESSENGERS

VOL. II

LITTLE STREAMS

PRINTED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH

GEORGE BARRIE'S SONS

THE JEFFERSON PRESS

BOSTON NEW YORK

_Copyrighted, 1903-1904, by G. B. & Sons._

SANS-CRAVATE;

OR,

THE MESSENGERS

[CONTINUED]