The Black Robe | Page 9

stranger proved to be a surgeon. He entered at once on the
necessary explanation. The General was too ill to appear. He had been
attacked that morning by a fit--the consequence of the blow that he had
received. Under these circumstances, his eldest son (Maurice) was now
on the ground to fight the duel on his father's behalf; attended by the
General's seconds, and with the General's full approval.

We instantly refused to allow the duel to take place, Romayne loudly
declaring that he had no quarrel with the General's son. Upon this,
Maurice broke away from his seconds; drew off one of his gloves; and
stepping close up to Romayne, struck him on the face with the glove.
"Have you no quarrel with me now?" the young Frenchman asked.
"Must I spit on you, as my father did?" His seconds dragged him away,
and apologized to us for the outbreak. But the mischief was done.
Romayne's fiery temper flashed in his eyes. "Load the pistols," he said.
After the insult publicly offered to him, and the outrage publicly
threatened, there was no other course to take.
It had been left to us to produce the pistols. We therefore requested the
seconds of our opponent to examine and to load them. While this was
being done, the advancing sea-fog so completely enveloped us that the
duelists were unable to see each other. We were obliged to wait for the
chance of a partial clearing in the atmosphere. Romayne's temper had
become calm again. The generosity of his nature spoke in the words
which he now addressed to his seconds. "After all," he said, "the young
man is a good son--he is bent on redressing what he believes to be his
father's wrong. Does his flipping his glove in my face matter to me? I
think I shall fire in the air."
"I shall refuse to act as your second if you do," answered the French
gentleman who was assisting us. "The General's son is famous for his
skill with the pistol. If you didn't see it in his face just now, I did--he
means to kill you. Defend your life, sir!" I spoke quite as strongly, to
the same purpose, when my turn came. Romayne yielded--he placed
himself unreservedly in our hands.
In a quarter of an hour the fog lifted a little. We measured the distance,
having previously arranged (at my suggestion) that the two men should
both fire at the same moment, at a given signal. Romayne's composure,
as they faced each other, was, in a man of his irritable nervous
temperament, really wonderful. I placed him sidewise, in a position
which in some degree lessened his danger, by lessening the surface
exposed to the bullet. My French colleague put the pistol into his hand,
and gave him the last word of advice. "Let your arm hang loosely down,
with the barrel of the pistol pointing straight to the ground. When you
hear the signal, only lift your arm as far as the elbow; keep the elbow
pressed against your side--and fire." We could do no more for him. As

we drew aside--I own it--my tongue was like a cinder in my mouth, and
a horrid inner cold crept through me to the marrow of my bones.
The signal was given, and the two shots were fired at the same time.
My first look was at Romayne. He took off his hat, and handed it to me
with a smile. His adversary's bullet had cut a piece out of the brim of
his hat, on the right side. He had literally escaped by a hair-breadth.
While I was congratulating him, the fog gathered again more thickly
than ever. Looking anxiously toward the ground occupied by our
adversaries, we could only see vague, shadowy forms hurriedly
crossing and recrossing each other in the mist. Something had
happened! My French colleague took my arm and pressed it
significantly. "Leave me to inquire," he said. Romayne tried to follow; I
held him back--we neither of us exchanged a word.
The fog thickened and thickened, until nothing was to be seen. Once
we heard the surgeon's voice, calling impatiently for a light to help him.
No light appeared that we could see. Dreary as the fog itself, the silence
gathered round us again. On a sudden it was broken, horribly broken,
by another voice, strange to both of us, shrieking hysterically through
the impenetrable mist. "Where is he?" the voice cried, in the French
language. "Assassin! Assassin! where are you?" Was it a woman? or
was it a boy? We heard nothing more. The effect upon Romayne was
terrible to see. He who had calmly confronted the weapon lifted to kill
him, shuddered dumbly like a terror-stricken animal. I put my arm
round him,