Several times in the course of this
interview Norbert de Champdoce had been on the point
of bursting into a furious passion, but he restrained
himself from a motive of self-pride; but now that his
wife was no longer present, he showed a savage intensity
of purpose and a deadly earnestness that was absolutely
appalling. As he followed Croisenois down the
great staircase, he kept repeating the words, “Quick!
quick! we have lost too much time already;”
for he saw that a mere trifle might upset all his
plans — such as a servant returning home before
the others. When they reached the ground-floor,
he led George into a by-room which looked like an
armory, so filled was it with arms of all kinds and
nations.
“Here,” said he, with
a bitter sneer, “we can find, I think, what we
want;” and placing the candle he carried on the
mantelpiece, he leaped upon the cushioned seat that
ran round the room, and took down from the wall several
pairs of duelling swords, and, throwing them upon the
floor, exclaimed, “Choose your own weapon.”
George was an anxious as Norbert to
bring this painful scene to a close, for anything
was preferable to this hideous state of suspense.
The last despairing glance of the Duchess had pierced
his heart like a dagger thrust, and when he saw Norbert
thrust aside his trembling wife with such brutality,
it was all he could do to refrain from striking him
down. He made no choice of weapons, but grasped
the nearest, saying, —
“One will do as well as another.”
“We cannot fight in this darkness,”
said Norbert, “but I have a means to remedy
that. Come with me this way, so that we may avoid
the observation of the porter.”
They went into the stables, where
he took up a large lantern, which he lighted.
“This,” said he, “will afford ample
light for our work.”
“Ah, but the neighbors will
see it, too; and at this hour a light in the garden
is sure to attract attention,” observed George.
“Don’t be afraid; my grounds are not overlooked.”
They entered the garden, and soon
reached the spot to which the Duke had alluded.
Norbert hung the lantern on the bough of a tree, and
it gave the same amount of light as an ordinary street
lamp.
“We will dig the grave in that
corner,” observed he; “and when it is
filled in, we can cover it with that heap of stones
over there.”
He threw off his great coat, and,
handing a spade to Croisenois, took another himself,
repeating firmly the words, —
“To work! To work!”
Croisenois would have toiled all night
before he could have completed the task, but the muscles
of the Duke were hardened by his former laborious
life, and in forty minutes all was ready.
“That will do,” said Norbert,
exchanging his spade for a sword. “Take
your guard.”
Croisenois, however, did not immediately
obey. Impressible by nature, he felt a cold shiver
run through his frame; the dark night, the flickering
lantern, and all these preparations, made in so cold-blooded
a manner, affected his nerves. The grave, with
its yawning mouth, fascinated him.
“Well,” said Norbert impatiently, “are
you not ready?”
“I will speak,” exclaimed
De Croisenois, driven to desperation. “In
a few minutes one of us will be lying dead on this
spot. In the presence of death a man’s
words are to be relied on. Listen to me.
I swear to you, on my honor and by all my hopes of
future salvation, that the Duchess de Champdoce is
entirely free from guilt.”
“You have said that before; why repeat it again?”
“Because it is my duty; because
I am thinking that, if I die, it will be my insane
passions that have caused the ruin of one of the best
and purest women in the world. I entreat you
to believe that she has nothing to repent of.
See, I am not ashamed to descend to entreaty.
Let my death, if you kill me, be an expiation for
everything. Be gentle with your wife; and if
you survive me, do not make her life one prolonged
existence of agony.”
“Silence, or I shall look upon
you as a dastard,” returned Norbert fiercely.
“Miserable fool!” said
De Croisenois. “On guard, then, and may
heaven decide the issue!”
There was a sharp clash as their swords
crossed, and the combat began with intense vigor.
The space upon which the rays of the
lantern cast a glimmering and uncertain light was
but a small one; and while one of the combatants was
in complete shade the other was in the light, and exposed
to thrusts which he could not see. This was fatal
to Croisenois, and, as he took a step forward, Norbert
made a fierce lunge which pierced him to the heart.
The unfortunate man threw up his arms
above his head; his sword escaping from his nerveless
fingers and his knees bending under him, he fell heavily
backwards without a word escaping from his lips.
Thrice he endeavored to regain his feet, and thrice
he failed in his attempts. He strove to speak,
but he could only utter a few unintelligible words,
for his life blood was suffocating him. A violent
convulsion shook every limb, then arose a long, deep-drawn
sigh, and then silence — George de Croisenois
was dead.
Yes, he was dead, and Norbert de Champdoce
stood over him with a wild look of terror in his eyes,
and his hair bristling upon his head, as a shudder
of horror convulsed his body. Then, for the first
time, he realized the horror of seeing a man slain
by his own hand; and yet what affected Norbert most
was not that he had killed George de Croisenois — for
he believed that justice was on his side and that he
could not have acted otherwise — but the perspiration
stood in thick beads upon his forehead, as he thought
that he must raise up that still warm and quivering
body, and place it in its unhallowed grave.
He hesitated and reasoned with himself
for some time, going over all the reasons that made
dispatch so absolutely necessary — the risk
of detection, and the honor of his name.
He stooped and prepared to raise it,
but recoiled again before his hands had touched the
body. His heart failed him, and once more he assumed
an erect position. At last he nerved himself,
grasped the body, and, with an immense exertion of
strength, hurled it into the gaping grave. It
fell with a dull, heavy sound which seemed to Norbert
like the roar of an earthquake. The violent emotions
which he had endured had ended by acting on his brain,
and, snatching up the spade which his late antagonist
had used with so unpracticed a hand, shovelled the
earth upon the body, flattened down the ground, and
finally covered it with straw and dead leaves.
“And this is the end of a man
who wronged a Champdoce; yes, his life has paid the
penalty of his deed.”
All at once, a few paces off, in the
deep shadow of the trees, he thought that he detected
the outline of a human head with a pair of glittering
eyes fixed upon him. The shock was so terrible
that for an instant he stopped and nearly fell, but
he quickly recovered himself, and, snatching up his
blood-stained sword, he dashed to the spot where he
fancied he had seen this terrible witness of his deed.
At this rapid movement on the part
of the Duke, a figure started up with a faint cry
for mercy. It was a woman.
She fled with inconceivable swiftness
towards the house, but he caught her just as she had
gained the steps.
“Have mercy on me!” cried she. “Do
not murder me!”
He dragged her back to where the lantern
was hanging. She was a girl of about eighteen
years of age, ugly, badly clothed, and dirty looking.
Norbert looked earnestly at her, but could not say
who she was, though he was certain that he had seen
her face somewhere.
“Who are you?” asked he.
She burst into a flood of tears, but made no other
reply.
“Come,” resumed he, in
more soothing accents; “you shall not be hurt.
Tell me who you are.”
“Caroline Schimmel.”
“Caroline?” repeated he.
“Yes. I have been in your
service as scullery maid for the last three months.”
“How is it that you did not go to the wedding
with the rest of them?”
“It was not my fault. I
was asked, and I did so long to go, but I was too
shabby; I had no finery to put on. I am very poor
now, for I have only fifteen francs a month, and none
of the other maids would lend me anything to wear.”
“How did you come into the garden?” asked
Norbert.
“I was very miserable, and was
sitting in the garden crying, when I suddenly saw
a light down there. I thought it was theirs, and
crept down the back stairs.”
“And what did you see?”
“I saw it all.”
“All what?”
“When I got down here, you and
the other were digging. I thought you were looking
for money! but ah, dear me! I was wrong.
Then the other began to say something, but I couldn’t
catch a word; then you fought. Oh, it was awful!
I was so frightened, I could not take my eyes off you.
Then the other fell down on his back.”
“And then?”
“Then,” she faltered, “you buried
him, and then — ”
“Could you recognize this — this other?”
“Yes, my lord duke, I did.”
“Had you ever seen him before? Do you know
who he was?”
“No.”
“Listen to me, my girl.
If you know how to hold your tongue, if you can forget
all you have seen to-night, it will be the greatest
piece of luck for you in the world that you did not
go to this wedding.”
“I won’t open my lips
to a soul, my lord duke. Hear me swear, I won’t.
Oh, do believe me!”
“Very well; keep your oath,
and your fortune is made. To-morrow I will give
you a fine, large sum of money, and you can go back
to your village and marry some honest fellow to whom
you have taken a fancy.”
“Are you not making game of me?”
“No; go to your room and go
to bed, as if nothing had happened. Jean will
tell you what to do to-morrow, and you must obey him
as you would me.”
“Oh, my lord! Oh, my lord duke!”
Unable to contain her delight, she mingled her laughter
and her tears.
And Norbert knew that his name, his
honor, and perhaps his life were in the hands of a
wretched girl like this. All the peace and happiness
of his life were gone, and he felt like some unhappy
prisoner who through the bars of his dungeon sees
his jailer’s children sporting with lighted
matches and a barrel of gunpowder. He was at her
mercy, for well he knew that it would resolve into
this — that the smallest wish of this girl
would become an imperative command that he dared not
disobey. However absurd might be her whims and
caprices, she had but to express them, and he
dared not resist. What means could he adopt to
free himself from this odious state of servitude?
He knew but of one — the dead tell no tales.
There were four persons who were the sharer of Norbert’s
secret. First, the writer of the anonymous letter;
then the Duchess; then Caroline Schimmel; and, finally,
Jean, to whom he must confide all. With these
thoughts ringing through his brain, Norbert carefully
effaced the last traces of the duel, and then bent
his steps towards his wife’s chamber.
He had expected to find her still
unconscious on the spot where he had left her lying.
Marie was seated in an armchair by the side of the
fire; her face was terribly pale, and her eyes sparkling
with the inward flame that consumed her.
“My honor has been vindicated;
the Marquis de Croisenois is no more; I have slain
your lover, madame.”
Marie did not start; she had evidently
prepared herself for this blow. Her face assumed
a more proud and disdainful expression, and the light
in her dark eyes grew brighter and brighter.
“You are wrong,” said
she, “M. de Croisenois was not my lover.”
“You need no longer take the
pains to lie; I ask nothing now.”
Marie’s utter calmness jarred
inexpressibly upon Norbert’s exasperated frame
of mind. He would have given much to change this
mood of hers, which he could not at all understand.
But in vain did he say the most cutting things, and
coupled them with bitter taunts, for she had reached
a pitch of exaltation far above his sarcasms and abuse.
“I am not lying,” answered
she frigidly. “What should I gain by it?
What more have I to gain in this world? You desire
to learn the truth; here it is then: It was with
my knowledge and permission that George was here to-night.
He came because I had asked him to do so, and I left
the gate in the garden wall open, so as to facilitate
his entrance. He had not been more than five
minutes in the room, when you arrived, and he had
never been there before. It would have been easy
for me to have left you; but as I bear your name,
I could not dishonor it. As you entered, he was
entreating me to fly with him; both his life and his
honor were in my hands. Ah, why did I pause for
an instant? Had I consented, he would still have
been alive, and in some far distant country he and
I might have learned that this world has something
more to offer than unhappiness and misery. Yes,
as you will have it, you shall have all. I loved
him ere I knew that you even existed. I have only
my own folly to blame, only my own unhappy weakness
to deplore. Why did I not steadily refuse to
become your wife? You say that you have slain
George. Not so, for in my heart his memory will
ever remain bright and ineffaceable.”
“Beware!” said Norbert furiously, “beware
if — ”
“Ah, would you kill me too?
Do not fear resistance; my life is a blank without
him. He is dead; let death come to me; it would
be a welcome visitant. The only kindness that
you could now bestow upon me would be my death-blow.
Strike then, and end it all! In death we should
be united, George and I; and as my limbs grew stiff
and my breath passed away, my whitening lips would
murmur words of thanks.”
Norbert listened to her, overwhelmed
by the intensity of her passion, and marvelling that
he had any power to feel after the terrible event
which had fallen upon his devoted head.
Could this be Marie, the soft and
gentle woman, who spoke with such passionate vehemence
and boldly braved his anger? How could he have
so misunderstood her? He forgot all his anger
in his admiration. She seemed to him to have
undergone a complete change. There was an unearthly
style of beauty around her — her eyes blazed
and shone with the lurid light of a far-distant planet,
while her wealth of raven hair fell in disordered
masses on her shoulders. It was passion, real
passion, that he beheld to-night, not that mere empty
delusion which he had so long followed blindly.
Marie was really capable of a deep-rooted feeling of
adoration for the man she loved, while with Diana
de Mussidan, the woman with her fair hair and the
steel-blue eyes, love was but the lust of conquest,
or the desire to jeer at a suitor’s earnestness.
Ah, what a revelation had been made to him now!
And what would he not have given to have wiped out
the past! He advanced towards her with outstretched
arms.
“Marie!” said he, “Marie!”
“I forbid you to call me Marie!” shrieked
she wildly.
He made no reply, but still advanced
towards her, when, with a terrible cry, she recoiled
from him.
“Blood!” she screamed, “ah, heavens!
he has blood upon his hands!”
Norbert glanced downwards; upon the
wristband of his shirt there was a tell-tale crimson
stain.
The Duchess raised her hand, and pointed towards the
door.
“Leave me,” said she,
with an extraordinary assumption of energy, “leave
me; the secret of your crime is safe; I will not betray
you or hand you over to justice. But remember
that a murdered man stands between us, and that I
loathe and execrate you.”
Rage and jealousy tortured Norbert’s
soul. Though George de Croisenois was no more,
he was still his successful rival in Marie’s
love.
“You forget,” said he
in a voice hoarse with passion, “that you are
mine, and that, as your husband, I can make your existence
one long scene of agony and misery. Keep this
fact in your memory. To-morrow, at six o’clock,
I shall be here.”
The clock was striking two as he left
the house and hastened to the spot where he had left
his horse.
The soldier was still pacing backwards
and forwards, leading the Duke’s horse.
“My faith!” said the man,
as soon as he perceived Norbert, “you pay precious
long visits. I had only leave to go to the theatre,
and I shall get into trouble over this.”
“Pshaw! I promised you
twenty francs. Here are two louis.”
The soldier pocketed the money with
an air of delighted surprise, and Norbert sprang into
the saddle.
An hour later he gave the appointed
signal upon the window pane, behind which the trusty
Jean was waiting.
“Take care that no one sees
you as you take the horse to the stable,” said
the Duke hastily, “and then come to me, for I
want your assistance and advice.”