Tom Burke Of "Ours", Volume II. Lever Charles James
came to close the café at last, and we were obliged to depart. You know the ‘Grenadier Rouge,’ don’t you?”
“Yes, I know it well,” replied the major; “it’s over the glacis, about a mile outside the barrier.”
“Just so; and there’s a pleasant walk across the glacis to the gate. As Piccotin and I set out together on our way to the town, the night was calm and mild; a soft moonlight shed a silvery tint over every object, and left the stately poplars to throw a still longer shadow on the smooth grass. For some time we walked along without speaking; the silence of the night, the fragrant air, the mellow light, were all soft and tranquillizing influences, and we sank each into his own reflections.
“When we reached the middle of the plain, – you know the spot, I’m sure; there’s a little bronze fountain, with four cedars round it,” (the major nodded, and he resumed), – “Piccotin came to a sudden halt, and seizing my hand in both of his, said, ‘François, canst thou guess what I ‘m thinking of?’
“I looked at him, and I looked around me, and after a few seconds’ pause I answered, ‘Yes, Piccotin, I know it; it is a lovely spot.’
“‘Never was anything like it!’ cried he, in a rapture; ‘look at the turf, smooth as velvet, and yet soft to the foot; see the trees, how they fall back to give the light admittance; and there, that little fountain, if one felt thirsty, eh! What say you?’
“‘Agreed,’ said I, grasping him by both hands; ‘for this once; once only, Piccotin.’
“‘Only once, François; a few passes, and no more.’
“‘Just so; the first touch.’
“‘Exactly; the first touch,’ said he, as, taking off his cloak, and folding it neatly, he laid it on the grass.
“It was a strange thing, but in all our lives, from earliest boyhood up, we never had measured swords together; and though we were both maîtres d’armes, we never crossed blades, even in jest. Often and often had our comrades pitted us against each other, and laid wagers on the result, but we never would consent to meet; I cannot say why. It was not fear; I know not how to account for it, but such was the fact.
“‘What blade do you wear, François?’ said he, approaching me, as I arranged my jacket and vest, with my cap, on the ground.
“‘A Rouen steel,’ said I; ‘too limber for most men, but I am so accustomed to it, I prefer it.’
“‘Ah! a pretty weapon indeed,’ said he, drawing it from the scabbard, and making one or two passes with it against an elder trunk. ‘Was this the blade you had with you in Egypt?’
“‘Yes; I have worn none other for eight years.’
“‘Ah, ma foi! those Mamelukes. How I envy you those Mamelukes!’ he muttered to himself, as he walked back to his place.
“‘Move a little, a very little, to the left; there’s a shadow from that tree. Can you see me well?’ said I.
“‘Perfectly; are you ready? Well; en garde!’
“Piccotin’s forte, I soon saw, lay in the long meditated attack, where each movement was part of an artfully devised series; and I perceived that he suffered his adversary to gain several trifling advantages, by way of giving him a false confidence, biding his own time to play off the scores. In this description of fence he was more than my equal. My strength was in the skirmishing passages, where most men lunge at random; then, no matter how confused the rally, I was as cool as in the salute.
“For some time I permitted him to play his game out; and certainly nothing could be more beautiful than his passes over the hilt. Twice he planted his point within an inch of my bosom; and nothing but a spring backwards would have saved me.
“At length, after a long-contested struggle, he made a feint within, and then without, the guard, and succeeded in touching my sword-arm, above the wrist.
“‘A touch, I believe,’ said he.
“‘A mere nothing,’ said I; for although I felt the blood running down my sleeve, and oozing between my fingers, I was annoyed to think he had made the first hit.
“‘Ah, François, these Mamelukes were not of the première force, after all. I have only been jesting all this time; see here.’ With that he closed on me, in a very different style from his former attack. Pushing and parrying with the rapidity of lightning, he evinced a skill in ‘skirmish’ I did not believe him possessed of. In this, however, I was his master; and in a few seconds gave him my point sharply, but not deeply, in the shoulder. Instead of dropping his weapon when he received mine, he returned the thrust. I parried it, and touched him again, a little lower down. He winced this time, and muttered something I could not catch. ‘You shall have it now,’ said he, aloud; ‘I owe you this, – and this.’ True to his word, he twice pierced me in the back, outside the guard. Encouraged by success, he again closed on me; while I, piqued by his last assault, advanced to meet him.
“Our tempers were both excited; but his far more than mine. The struggle was a severe one. Three several times his blade passed between my arm and my body; and at last after a desperate rally, he dropped on one knee, and gave me the point here, beneath the chest. Before he could extricate his blade, I plunged mine into his chest, and pushed till I heard the hilt come clink against his ribs. The blood spurted upwards, over my face and breast, as he fell backwards. I wiped it hurriedly from my eyes, and bent over him. He gave a shudder and a little faint moan, and all was still.”
“You killed him?” cried out three or four of us together.
“Ma foi! yes. The ‘coup’ was mortal; he never stirred after. As for me,” continued Francois, “I surrendered myself a prisoner to the officer on guard at the gate. I was tried ten days after by a military commission, and acquitted. My own evidence was my accusation and my defence.”
“Ventrebleu! had I been on the court-martial, you had not been here to tell the story,” said the old major, as his face became almost purple with passion.
“Nonsense!” said Tascher, jeeringly. “What signifies a maître d’armes the more or the less?”
“Monsieur will probably explain himself,” said François, with one of his cold smiles of excessive deference.
“It is exactly what I mean to do, François.”
“Come, sirs, none of this,” broke in the major. “Lieutenant Tascher, you may not fancy being placed under an arrest when the enemy is in the field. Master Francois, do you forget the sentence of a court-martial is hanging over your head for an affair at Elchingen, where you insulted a young officer of the hussars?”
“In that case I must be permitted to say that Maître François conducted himself like a man of honor,” said I.
“Parbleu! and got the worst of it besides,” cried he, placing his hand on his hip. The tone of his voice as he said this, and the grimace he made, restored the party once more to good-humor, and we chatted away pleasantly till day was breaking.
As Tascher strolled along with me towards my quarters, I was rejoiced to discover that he had never heard of my name as being mixed up in the Chouan conspiracy; nor was he aware with how little reason he believed me to be favored by fortune.
I received, however, all his congratulations without any desire to undeceive him. Already had I learned the worldly lesson, that while friends cling closer in adversity, your mere acquaintance deems your popularity your greatest merit; and I at length perceived that, however ungenial in many respects the companionship, the life of isolation I led had rendered me suspected by others, and in a career, too, where frankness was considered the first of virtues.
I assented at once with pleasure to the prospect of our meeting frequently while in camp. My own regiment had joined Davoust’s corps, and I was glad to have the society of some others of my own age, if only to wean myself from my habits of solitude. While I formed these plans for the future, I little anticipated what events were in store for me, nor how soon I should be thrown among scenes and people totally