Petticoat Rule

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

  CHAPTER XXX

  M. DE STAINVILLE'S SECONDS

  When Monsieur Achille, having escorted Madame la Marquise as far asher apartments, once more retraced his sedate footsteps toward thoseoccupied by Lord Eglinton, he was much surprised to find the worthyBaptiste Durand in the octagonal room which gave immediately onmilor's study.

  The wizened little man looked singularly upset; he had a couple ofheavy books under his arm: and two large white quills, one behind eachear, gave him the look of a frightened stork.

  It was long past the usual hour when M. Durand laden with his bulkybooks habitually entered the Marquis's private room and remainedcloseted therein with milor until long past midnight. Every evening atthe self-same hour he came to the octagonal room, passed the time ofday with Monsieur Achille and then went in, to milor: he alwayscarried a leather bag filled with papers neatly tied in bundles, andhe wore a somewhat anxious look when he entered and one of relief whenhe finally departed. Monsieur Achille had often bent his broad andmajestic back, in order to bring his ear down to the level of thekeyhole of the door, through which Monsieur Durand invariablydisappeared at ten o'clock in the evening; but all the satisfactionwhich his curiosity obtained was the sound of two voices, one steadyand low and the other somewhat shrill, without any individual orcomprehensible sentence detaching itself from the irritating babel.

  And when M. Durand came out of the room after midnight, he badeMonsieur Achille a curt good-night and invariably refused anyinformation with regard to the work he did for milor at that late hourof the night.

  When closely pressed he would vaguely say: "Accounts!" which of coursewas ridiculous. Monsieur Achille had never heard of a noblemantroubling himself about accounts, at the time when most people ofconsideration were either at _petits soupers_ or else comfortably inbed.

  As time went on Monsieur Achille ceased to take any interest in thesenightly proceedings; they were so monotonous and so regular, that theywere no longer exciting. But to-night everything seemed changed. M.Durand instead of marching straight through with his books into thestudy, stood in the middle of the room, a veritable picture ofhelpless perturbation.

  "Why, M. Durand," said Achille greatly astonished, "what ails you? Youlook as if you had seen a ghost."

  "Sh!---sh!---sh!" whispered the timorous little man, indicating with ajerk of his lean shoulder the distant door of the study, "do you hearthat?"

  Monsieur Achille bent his ear to listen. But strive how he might hecould hear nothing but the great bracket-clock on the wall tickingmonotonously. He shrugged his shoulders to indicate that the worthyBaptiste had been dreaming, but there was a certain look in thewizened face which caused him to tiptoe toward the study door and oncemore to bring his ear down to the level of the keyhole.

  Then he shook his head, and tiptoed back to the centre of the room.

  "I can hear nothing," he whispered. "Are you sure he is in there?"

  "Quite, quite sure," replied Durand.

  "Then why don't you go in as usual?"

  "I . . . I can't!"

  "Why not?"

  "I . . . I don't know. . . . I seemed to hear such a funny sound as if. . ." he paused a moment searching for the words that would bestrender his impression of what he had heard. Finding none apparently,he reiterated:

  "It is a very funny sound."

  "Perhaps milor was asleep and snoring," suggested the practicalAchille.

  "No, no," protested Durand very energetically.

  "Or ill . . ."

  "Ah yes! . . . perhaps . . ." stammered the little man, "perhaps miloris ill."

  "Then I'll to him at once."

  And before M. Durand could prevent him--which undoubtedly he wouldhave done--Achille had gone back to the study door and loudly knockedthereat.

  At first there was no answer. M. Achille knocked again, and yet again,until a voice from within suddenly said:

  "Who is it?"

  "Achille, M. le Marquise!" responded the worthy with alacrity.

  "I want nothing," said the voice. "Tell Durand that I shall not needhim to-night."

  M. Durand nearly dropped his heavy books on the floor.

  "Not want me!" he ejaculated; "we shall get terribly in arrears!"

  "Will milor go to bed?" again queried M. Achille.

  "No!" came somewhat impatiently from within. "Do not wait up for me.If I want you later I will ring."

  Achille looked at M. Durand and the worthy Baptiste returned the lookof puzzlement and wonder. Both shrugged their shoulders.

  "There's nothing to be done, my good Baptiste," said Achille at last;"you had best take your paraphernalia away and go to bed. I know thattone of voice, I have heard it once before when . . . but never mindthat," he added abruptly checking himself, as if he feared to commitan indiscretion, "enough that I know if milor says, in that tone ofvoice, that he does not want you and that you are to go away--wellthen, my good Durand, he does not want you and you are to go away.. . . Do you see?"

  And having delivered himself of this phrase of unanswerable logic hepointed toward the door.

  M. Durand was about to take his friend's sound advice, when a loudring broke in upon the silence which had fallen over this portion ofthe stately palace.

  "A visitor at this late hour," mused Monsieur Achille. "Ma foi!methinks perhaps milor was expecting a fair and tardy visitor. . . .eh, M. Durand? . . . and that perhaps this was the reason why you andI were to go away . . . eh? . . . and why you were not wantedto-night, . . . What?"

  M. Durand was doubtful as to that, but there was no time to discussthat little matter, for a second ring, louder and more peremptory thanthe first, caused M. Achille to pull himself together, to flick at hiscravat, and to readjust the set of his coat, whilst M. Durand loath toretire before he knew something of the tardy visitor, withdrew withbooks, bag and papers into a dark corner of the room.

  Already the sound of approaching footsteps drew nearer; the visitorhad been admitted and was now being escorted through the receptionrooms by the two footmen carrying torches. The next moment the doorsleading to the official suite of apartments were thrown open, M.Achille put himself in position in the centre of the room, whilst aloud voice from the distant hall announced:

  "M. le Marquis de Belle-Isle! M. le Comte de Lugeac!"

  Achille's broad back was bent nearly double. The names were well knownto him and represented, if not exactly the flower of aristocraticFrance, at least the invisible power which swayed her destinies. M. leMarquis de Belle-Isle was Madame de Pompadour's best friend, and M. deLugeac was her nephew.

  "Your master . . . is he within?"

  It was M. de Belle-Isle who spoke; his voice was loud and peremptory,the voice of a man who only recently had been in a position tocommand.

  "Milor is . . . er . . . within, M. le Marquis," said Achille withslight hesitation. It is not often that he was taken aback when in theexercise of his duties, but the situation was undoubtedly delicate,and he had not yet made up his mind exactly how he ought to deal withit.

  Neither of the two gentlemen, however, seemed to have any intention ofleaving him much longer in doubt.

  "Go and tell him at once," said M. de Lugeac, "that Monsieur leMarquis de Belle-Isle and myself will have to trouble him for abouttwo minutes."

  Then as Achille seemed to be hesitating--for he did not move with anyalacrity and his well-kept hand stroked his smooth, heavy chin--M. deBelle-Isle added more loudly:

  "Go knave! and at once. . . . Par le diable, man! . . . how dare youhesitate?"

  Indeed Monsieur Achille dared do that no longer. M. le Marquis deBelle-Isle was not a gentleman to be trifled with so he shrugged hismajestic shoulders, and rubbed his hands together in token that theaffair had passed out of their keeping, and that he no longer heldhimself responsible for any unpleasant consequences which might accruefrom such unparalleled intrusion.

  He strode with becoming majesty to the study door, his broad, straightback emphasising the protest of his whole attitude.
Once more heknocked, but more loudly, less diffidently than before.

  The voice from within queried with marked impatience:

  "What is it now?"

  "An urgent call, Monsieur le Marquis!" replied Achille in a firmvoice.

  "I can see no one. I am busy," said the voice from within.

  M. de Belle-Isle felt that this little scene was not quite dignified;neither he nor M. de Lugeac was accustomed to stand behind a lacquey'sback, parleying with a man through closed doors: therefore whenMonsieur Achille turned to him now with a look which strove toindicate respectfully but firmly that the incident was closed, hepushed him roughly aside and himself called loudly:

  "Pardi, Marquis, methinks you are over-anxious to forbid your doorto-night. I, Andre de Belle-Isle and my friend le Comte de Lugeacdesire a word with you. We represent M. le Comte de Stainville, andunless you are closeted with a lady, I summon you to open this door."

  Then as the door remained obstinately closed--too long at any rate forM. le Marquis's impatience--he boldly placed his hand on the knob andthrew it open. The heavy panels flew back, revealing Lord Eglintonsitting at his secretaire writing. His head was resting on his hand,but he turned to look at the two gentlemen, as they stood, momentarilysilent and subdued in the doorway itself. He rose to greet them, butstared at them somewhat astonished and not a little haughtily, and hemade no motion requesting them to enter.

  "We crave your pardon, milor," began Monsieur de Belle-Isle, feeling,as he afterward explained, unaccountably bashful and crestfallen, "wewould not have intruded, M. de Lugeac and I, only that there was aslight formality omitted this evening without which we cannot proceedand which we must pray you to fulfill."

  "What formality, Monsieur?" asked milor courteously. "I am afraid I donot understand."

  "The whole incident occurred very rapidly, we must admit," continuedM. de Belle-Isle still standing in the doorway, still unwillingapparently to intrude any further on this man whom he had known forsome time, yet who seemed to have become an utter stranger to him now:haughty, grave and courteous, with an extraordinary look of aloofnessin the face which repelled the very suggestion of familiarity. "Andthat is no doubt the reason, milor, why you omitted to name yourseconds to Monsieur de Stainville."

  "My seconds?" repeated milor. "I am afraid you must think me verystupid . . . but I still do not understand . . ."

  "But surely, milor . . ." protested M. de Belle-Isle, a little takenaback.

  "Would you be so kind as to explain? . . . if it is necessary."

  "Necessary? Pardi, I should not have thought that it had beennecessary. You, milor, in yourself also and through Madame la Marquiseyour wife have insulted M. le Comte de Stainville and Madame laComtesse too. We represent M. le Comte de Stainville in this affair,wherein we presume that you are prepared to give him satisfaction. Andwe have come to-night, milor, to ask you kindly to name your ownrepresentatives so that we may arrange the details of this encounterin the manner pre-eminently satisfactory to M. le Comte de Stainville,since he is the aggrieved party."

  Gradually M. de Belle-Isle had raised his voice. His feeling ofbashfulness had entirely left him and he felt not a little wrathful atthis strange _role_ which he was being made to play. It was quiteunheard of that a gentleman who had so grossly insulted another, asLord Eglinton had insulted M. de Stainville, should require suchlengthy explanations as to what the next course of events wouldnecessarily be.

  "Therefore, milor," he continued with some acerbity as Lord Eglintonhad vouchsafed no reply to his tirade, "we pray you to name yourseconds to us, without delay, so that we may no longer intrude uponyour privacy."

  "I need not do that, M. le Marquis," said milor quietly. "I require noseconds."

  "No seconds?" gasped the two gentlemen with one breath.

  "I am not going to fight M. de Stainville."

  If Lord Eglinton had suddenly declared his intention of dethroningKing Louis and placing the crown of France on his own head, he couldnot more have astonished his two interlocutors. Both M. de Belle-Isleand M. de Lugeac were in fact absolutely speechless: in all their vastexperience of Court life such a situation had never occurred before,and literally neither of them knew exactly how to deal with it. M. deLugeac, young and arrogant, was the first to recover his presence ofmind. Like his successful relative Jeanne Poisson de Pompadour he hadbeen born in the slums of Paris, his exalted fortune, following soquickly in the wake of the ex-victualler's wife, had given him anassurance and an amount of impudence which the older de Belle-Islelacked, and which stood him in good stead in the present crisis.

  "Are we to look on this as a formal refusal, milor?" he now askedboldly.

  "As you please."

  "You will not give M. le Comte de Stainville the satisfaction usuallyagreed upon between men of honour?"

  "I will not fight M. de Stainville," repeated milor quietly. "I ambusy with other things."

  "But milor," here interposed M. de Belle-Isle testily: "you cannothave reflected on the consequences of such an act, which I myself atthis moment would hardly dare to characterize."

  "You will excuse me, gentlemen," said Lord Eglinton with seemingirrelevance, "but is there any necessity for prolonging thisinterview?"

  "None at all," sneered M. de Lugeac. "It is not our business tocomment on milor's conduct . . . at present," he added with audacioussignificance.

  But M. de Belle-Isle, who, in spite of his undignified adherence tothe Pompadour and her faction, was a sprig of the old noblesse ofFrance, was loath to see the humiliation of a high-borngentleman--whatever his faults might be--before such an upstart as deLugeac. A kindly instinct, not altogether unexplainable, caused him tosay encouragingly:

  "Let me assure you, milor--though perhaps in this I am overstepping myofficial powers--that M. le Comte de Stainville has no desire to dealharshly with you. The fact that he is the most noted swordsman inFrance may perhaps be influencing you at this moment, but will youtrust to my old experience when I assure you that M. le Comte's notedskill is your very best safeguard? He will be quite content to inflicta slight punishment on you--being a past master with his sword he cando that easily, without causing you graver injury. I am telling youthis in confidence of course, because I know that these are hisintentions. Moreover he starts on an important journey to-morrow andwould propose a very brief encounter with you at dawn, in one of thespinneys of the Park. A mere scratch, I assure you, you need fear nomore. Less he could not in all honour concede."

  A whimsical smile played round the corners of milor's mouth, chasingmomentarily the graver expression of his face.

  "Your assurance is more than kind, M. de Belle-Isle," he said withperfect courtesy, "but I can only repeat what I said just now, that Iwill not fight M. de Stainville."

  "And instead of repeating what I said just now, milor . . ." said deLugeac with a wicked leer.

  "You will elect to hold your tongue," said M. de Belle-Isleauthoritatively, placing his hand on the younger man's wrist.

  De Lugeac, who lived in perpetual fear of doing or saying somethingwhich would inevitably betray his plebeian origin, meekly obeyed M. deBelle-Isle's command. The latter, though very bewildered, would besure to know the correct way in which gentlemen should behave underthese amazing circumstances.

  Lord Eglinton standing beside his secretaire, his face in shadow, wasobviously waiting for these intruders to go. M. de Belle-Isle shruggedhis shoulders partly in puzzlement, partly in contempt; then he noddedcasually to milor, turned on his heel, and walked out of the doorwayinto the octagonal room beyond, whilst M. de Lugeac imitated as besthe could the careless nod and the look of contempt of his olderfriend. M. Achille stepping forward now closed the study doors behindthe two gentlemen, shutting out the picture of that grave, haughty manwho had just played the part of coward with such absolute perfection.

  "Bah! these English!" said young de Lugeac, as he made the gesture ofspitting on the ground. "I had not believed it, _par tous lesdiables!_ had I not heard with mine ow
n ears."

  But de Belle-Isle gravely shook his head.

  "I fear me the young man is only putting off the evil day. His skinwill have to be tough indeed if he can put up with . . . well! withwhat he will get when this business becomes known."

  "And it will become known," asserted de Lugeac spitefully. He hadalways hated what he called the English faction. Madame Lydie alwayssnubbed him unmercifully, and milor had hitherto most convenientlyignored his very existence. "By G--d I hope that my glove will be thefirst to touch his cheek."

  "Sh!--sh!--sh!" admonished de Belle-Isle, nodding toward Achille whowas busy with the candelabrum.

  "Nay! what do I care," retorted the other; "had you not restrained meI'd have called him a dirty coward then and there."

  "That had been most incorrect, my good Lugeac," rejoined de Belle-Isledrily, and wilfully ignoring the language which, in moments ofpassion, so plainly betrayed the vulgar origin. "The right to insultLord Eglinton belongs primarily to Gaston de Stainville, and afterwardonly to his friends."

  And although M. le Marquis de Belle-Isle expressed himself in moreelegant words than his plebeian friend, there was none the less spiteand evil intent in the expression of his face as he spoke.

  Then giving a sign to Achille to precede them with the light, the tworepresentatives of M. le Comte de Stainville finally strode out of theapartments of the ex-Comptroller General of Finance.

  M. Durand, with his bulky books and his papers under his arms,followed meekly, repeatedly shaking his head.