Arthur

CHAPTER XXXII

THE COMBAT

I again ascended to the deck.

I had taken a double-barrelled carbine, and a heavy Turkish damaskeened battle-axe, formerly bought as an object of curiosity, and which, under these circumstances, became an excellent weapon, for, besides its heavy blade, it ended in a very sharp iron spear.

I tried to discover the pirate, but whether because the ship had put out its light, or because it had greatly prolonged its tack, I could no longer see it. The yacht's crew had been promptly armed.

By the glimmer of some gun-lighters, fixed by their iron points in some buckets filled with water, we saw the sailors placed in charge of the guns, standing near the carronades; others, placed on either side of the schooner, were loading their guns, while an old gray-haired boatswain had just taken the tiller from the hands of one of his much younger comrades, whose experience was, doubtless, not sufficient to enable him to take this important post, during the combat.

All this took place in profound silence; one could hear only the dull noise of the ramrods on the wads, or the sound of the butt end of the muskets on the bridge. Williams, at the stern, stood on his quarter-deck, giving the last order. Geordy, charged with the direction of the gunners, superintended this part of the service.

Falmouth stood on the bridge. He had again put on his mask of habitual indifference.

"All is ready, my lord," said Williams to him. "Does your Grace wish to fight this pirate under sail or shall we board her?"

"Which do you prefer, a fight on board or a fight under sail?" Falmouth asked me, as if he were asking me to choose between Bordeaux or Madeira wine.

"I am absolutely indifferent," I replied, smiling; "let us act without ceremony; trust to the judgment of Williams, it is safer."

"What do you think, Williams?" demanded Falmouth.

"That we keep under sail. With the artillery of your Grace's yacht we can destroy this pirate without its being able to approach us, or do us much harm; for I do not suppose it could have taken artillery aboard."

"And the boarding?" asked Falmouth.

"I believe my lord knows the crew of the yacht well enough to be certain that, after a good contest, the pirates will be repulsed, or perhaps that their boat will remain in our power. But," suddenly cried Williams, pointing to a white spot with the end of his spy-glass, "the ship has put about; here it is returning upon us, my lord."

In fact, I soon saw its white sails appear in the darkness as it rapidly approached.

I loaded my carbine, put my axe near me, and waited.

I remember perfectly what I saw in my radius of action, not having had, I confess, the courage to isolate myself enough from my personal preoccupations to comprehend this bloody scene.

I was standing at the stern and off the side of the yacht.

A few feet in front of me, at the foot of the mizzenmast, with his back to me, an old sailor worked the helm.

Williams, on his quarter-deck, was giving some orders to a boatswain, who listened hat in hand. Falmouth, mounted on a cannon, holding to the shrouds with one hand, his gun in the other, was looking in the direction of the mystic.

The most profound silence reigned on board the yacht; this was a moment of grave and solemn expectation.

As for me, that which I felt reminded me very much, if I may be excused this childish comparison, of the uneasy emotion that I felt in my childhood when I was waiting minute by minute the shot from a gun fired in the scene of a play.

Then, must I acknowledge another weakness in my character? I had never faced any danger without imagining immediately all its fatal risks for myself. As in the duel of which I have spoken, a maddening duel, I thought not of death, but of the hideous mutilation which might result from a wound. At the moment of the boarding of this vessel, I had the same preoccupation. I saw myself with horror deprived of an arm or a leg, and thus made a repulsive object of pity to every one.

A light touch on the shoulder aroused me from my reflections.

I turned around; Falmouth, without interrupting the "Rule Britannia" which he whistled between his teeth, showed me with the end of his gun something white on the horizon which was gradually approaching us.

I began to distinguish perfectly the mystic.

Suddenly, I was dazzled by a sheet of light which for a moment illuminated the horizon, the sea, and all that I saw of the yacht. At the same time I heard the successive detonation of many firearms and the whistling of bullets passing near me.

From the sharp noise, from the crackling which followed the detonation, from some splinters of wood which fell at my feet, I knew that the balls had lodged either in the masts or in the hull of the ship.

My first motion was to turn back, my second to prepare and to fire in the direction of the mystic, but reflection restrained me.

My impatience, my curiosity, then became intense. I say curiosity, because this word alone seems to me to well express the eager impatience which agitated me.

I felt my veins throb violently, the blood rush to my heart, and my forehead flush.

Hardly had the echo of the detonation died away than the pirate came out of a thick cloud of smoke, having one of its sails half-brailed.

It was a strange spectacle.

By the uncertain light of the moon, the body of this ship and its rigging was outlined in black upon the whitish cloud that the wind blew towards us.

An instant afterwards the ship lay alongside the yacht from stern to bow, almost touching her.

By the light of the ship's lantern we could see the man with the black cowl still at the helm; with one hand he worked the tiller, with the other he pointed to the yacht, and I heard him call in Italian to the pirates who were pressing tumultuously to his side: "Fire no more; board her! Board her!"

According to the manœuvres of the pirates, the boarding would take place on the right, and all the crew of the yacht precipitated themselves from this side.

The gunners seized the cords which operated the pan-covers of the carronades.

I covered the man with the black cowl perfectly with the muzzle of my carbine.

At the moment when I pressed the trigger, Williams shouted, "Fire all!"

I fired, but was unable to see the effect of my ball.

A great explosion shook the yacht. It was the four starboard carronades loaded with grape-shot, which were fired almost at short range on the mystic pirate, without doubt at the moment when they boarded the yacht, for the latter received so violent a shock that I was almost thrown down.

Several balls whistled around my head.

A heavy body fell behind me, and I heard Falmouth call to me, in a feeble voice:

"Take care of yourself."

I turned anxiously towards him, when a man, wearing the Catalan bonnet, leaped upon the deck, caught me with one hand by my cravat, and with the other fired a shot from a pistol so near me that the priming burned my hair and beard.

Making a quick movement and throwing myself backward, I averted the ball which grazed my shoulder. I was holding my carbine loaded with one shot. At the moment when the pirate, seeing he had missed me, struck me on the head with the butt end of his pistol, I thrust the barrel of my carbine full against his chest, and fired.

The concussion was so strong that my arms were benumbed.

The pirate wheeled violently, stumbled against me, and fell on his back, gasping convulsively.

I turned about and trod upon some one; it was Falmouth, who was lying at the foot of the mainmast.

"You are wounded?" I cried, throwing myself upon him.

"I believe that I have something like a broken thigh; but pay no heed to me!" he exclaimed. "Take care! there comes another of those robbers, I see his head, face him or you are lost!"

My heart was broken at the sight of Falmouth extended on the deck.

I did not for a moment dream of the danger I was running; I wished first of all to rescue Henry from a certain death, for being thus unable to defend himself, he would be inevitably massacred.

Fortunately I saw the scuttle, which had not been closed (it was an opening three feet square, which communicated with the common saloon). I immediately took Falmouth under the arms, dragged him as far as this opening, in spite of his resistance, for he struggled, crying:

"There is that brigand, he is going to leap upon you!"

Without replying, and using all my strength, I seated him on the edge of the scuttle, his legs hanging within, and said to him, "Now let yourself slide, you, at least, will be in safety."

"Too late! You have lost your life in saving me!" cried Falmouth, with a tone of anguish.

As he said these words, with a last effort I made him slide into the interior of the chamber, where he had nothing more to fear.

All this had happened in less time than it has taken to write it.

I was still down on one knee, when an iron hand seized me by the neck, a strong knee pressed against my loins, and at the same time some one gave me a violent blow on the shoulder. This blow was followed by a sharp sensation of cold.

My boarding-axe was on the deck at my side; I seized it, and, in making a desperate effort to raise myself, I struck behind me, and by chance a furious blow, without doubt, reached my adversary, for my axe was stopped by a hard body, and the hand which held me slackened its hold at once. I was then able to straighten myself.

Scarcely was I on my feet when the man with the black cowl, who had attacked me when I lowered Henry into the saloon, threw himself upon me.

I was without arms. Having let my boarding-axe fall, we laid hold hand to hand, and an exciting struggle began.

His mantle, with the cowl turned up, enveloped him almost entirely, and concealed his face. He twisted one of his legs strongly around mine, in order to throw me; then squeezing me in order to choke me, he attempted to lift me from the deck and throw me over the side of the schooner.

If he was strong, I was no less so.

The ardent desire to avenge Falmouth, the anger, and, shall I so call it? this puerility, the disgust of feeling the breath of this brigand on my cheek, gave me new strength.

Disengaging one of my hands from both his powerful ones, I could fortunately take the pirate by the throat. There I felt the cord of a scapular. I twisted it around my hand and quickly gave it two or three turns.

I probably was beginning to strangle my enemy, for I noticed that his embrace weakened, when, by a lucky chance, a motion of the boat made us both stumble.

Already exhausted, the pirate fell, his back arched on the gunwale,—a last effort, and I was about to succeed, I was about to throw myself upon him with my whole weight, when he madly bit me in the face.

Although at this instant several shots flashed a bright light, and the cowl of the pirate was a little loosened, I could not distinguish his features, for his face was covered with blood.

Only in throwing me backward I saw that his teeth were singularly white, sharp, and separated.

Hurling myself again upon him, I succeeded in lifting him from the deck, placing him lengthwise on the gunwale, and at last in throwing him over the railing of the yacht.

But when he saw himself thus suspended above the sea, the pirate made a last effort, held with one hand to my neck, the other to my hair, and held me seized in this way, he outside the boat, and I within.

I was seeking to disengage myself when I received a violent blow on the head.

The hands of the man with the cowl relaxed, and I swooned.

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE DOCTOR

Very irksome is the task which I have imposed upon myself.

Here again is one of the phases of my life which I wish to be able to utterly efface from my memory,—one of those moments of terrible vertigo, during which—

But the hour of this fatal revelation will arrive, alas, too soon!

Stunned by the blow which I had received, I swooned at the moment when the captain of the pirates fell into the sea.

When I revived I was in bed in my chamber, my head and shoulder enveloped in bandages.

Falmouth's physician, of whom I have forgotten to speak, a grave and very learned man, was near me.

My first thought was for Henry.

"How is Lord Falmouth?" I asked the doctor.

"My lord is doing very well, sir; fortunately his wound is not dangerous."

"Has he not a broken hip?"

"A very great contusion, more painful, perhaps, than a fracture, but less serious."

"And the pirates?"

"They have escaped, and again set sail, after having lost five of their crew in this attack, but, doubtless, they have a great number of wounded."

"And have we lost many?"

"Three sailors and a boatswain have been killed, besides which, nine of our sailors are wounded more or less seriously."

"It seems to me to be day; what time is it, doctor?"

"Eleven o'clock, sir."

"Indeed, I believe I am dreaming,—all this has passed, then?"

"This night."

"And where are my wounds?"

"A wound on the head, and a blow from a poignard on the left shoulder. Ah, sir, an inch lower, and this last would have been mortal. But how do you feel this morning?"

"Oh, I feel a little smarting in my left shoulder; that is all; but Falmouth, Falmouth?"

"My lord will not be able to walk for several days. In spite of his wound, he has desired to help me in caring for you and in watching this night, but since one o'clock his strength has left him, and I have ordered him to his room. He is sleeping now. As soon as he awakens he will wish to be near you again, for he is in great haste to express his thanks to you, sir."

"Do not speak of that, doctor."

"Why not speak of that, sir?" exclaimed the doctor. "Have you not, in the midst of this mad combat, forgotten your own safety, to drag my lord from great peril? Have you not been wounded in accomplishing this act of friendship? Ah, sir, will my lord ever forget that it is to you that he owes his life? And we, ourselves, shall we ever forget that it is to you that we owe his preservation?"

"The attack, then, was very vigorous, doctor?"

"On all sides, it was terrible; but our sailors, however inferior in number, have intrepidly repulsed it. In a word, their bravery rivalled yours, sir; for your coolness, your struggle hand to hand with the captain of those pirates, have been the admiration of all of our crew."

"And you assure me that Falmouth's wound is not dangerous?"

"No, sir; but if you will permit me, I will go and see if he needs me."

"Go, go, doctor, and return and tell me when I may see him."

I remained alone.

CHAPTER XXXIV

FRIENDSHIP

Henry owed his life to me!

I cannot tell with what pride I continually repeated these words:

"I have saved Henry's life."

How I blessed the fortunate chance that permitted me to prove to Falmouth that my friendship was warm and true.

Until then, though I was entirely absorbed in my affection for him, I felt that there was wanting some great sacrifice, which would be a solemn consecration of my devotedness.

If my act had any value in my own eyes, it was because I should stand higher in his. It showed me that I was capable of a generous resolution, and reassured me on the firmness of my attachment to Falmouth.

Now, with a nature like mine, to believe in myself was to believe in him; to think of myself as a true, warm, and devoted friend, was to believe myself capable of inspiring true, ardent, and devoted friendship.

I felt that intrepid confidence of the soldier who, being perfectly sure of his conduct under fire, waits impatiently and securely for another occasion to show his courage. The reaction of this self-reliance was so great that it influenced even my former sentiments.

Proud of my conduct towards Falmouth, I understood that Hélène and Marguerite had loved me for qualities they saw in me, and which I had never discovered until now. For the first time I knew real happiness. I at last was able to understand all the devotion these two noble beings had bestowed on me.

An hour after the doctor left me, the door of my chamber opened, and I saw Falmouth, who was carried in by two of his servants.

His armchair was scarcely at my bedside, before Henry threw himself in my arms.

In this mute embrace, his head was leaning on my shoulder, and I could feel his tears and his trembling hands; he was only able to say these words: "Arthur,—Arthur,—my friend, my friend!"

Although this was so long ago, and black care has dimmed the radiance of that happy day, nothing has ever wiped out the remembrance of it, which is still vivid enough to quicken my heart's pulses and thrill me with delight.

It would be impossible to tell with what delicacy and effusion Falmouth expressed his gratitude. Words can never describe his accent, his look, nor his voice.

The head winds lasted for several days longer, and prevented our reaching Malta as soon as we had hoped.

Lord Falmouth's wound was healing rapidly, but mine was making very slow progress towards improvement.

Henry, in the meantime, tended me with the most affectionate solicitude.

With what sad anxiety would he watch the doctor's face, when my wound was dressed every morning! How many eager questions he would ask as to the probable time of my recovery! How much impatience he showed when the doctor would shorten or prolong the date.

Shall I speak of the many trifling, but charming ways in which he revealed his affectionate thoughtfulness for my comfort, all of which I appreciated and enjoyed?

Falmouth told me the whole story of his life, and I hid nothing from him in relation to mine.

He was twelve years older than I; he spoke eloquently and convincingly. He had seen much of the world, and his words began to have great weight with me, as he spoke with singular authority.

Nothing could be more elevated or liberal than his moral or political convictions.

I was overwhelmed with astonishment and admiration, in thus discovering, every day, some new jewel of exquisite feeling, lofty reason, or deep learning, under the cold and sarcastic exterior that Falmouth usually affected.

What a surprise it was to find, under the sceptic and mocking mask of a Byronic Don Juan, the warm and valiant heart of Schiller's Posa, with its ardent and holy love of humanity, its sincere faith in the good. He had the same generous faith in men, the same splendid plans for the good of humanity.

If Falmouth now appeared to me in this new light, it was because, during our long voyage, we had touched on all these subjects.

Until this period of my life, I had been totally indifferent to all political questions. I now began to feel the vibration of a new chord in my being, as, transported with indignation, Henry told me of the long arguments he, a peer of England, had sustained in Parliament, against the Tory party, which he considered the disgrace of his country.

It was impossible to remain unmoved before such eloquent emotion, such keen regret as Falmouth's. He deplored the futility of his efforts, but most of all his culpable weakness in having abandoned the contest before his party had given up all hope of obtaining a victory.

I enter into all these details because they lead to one of the most painful episodes in my life.

For two days Falmouth appeared to be lost in thought. Several times I besought him to confide the subject of his preoccupation to me. He always answered with a smile, that I was not to worry, as he was working for both of us, and that I should very soon know the result of his ponderings.

In fact, one morning Henry entered my room with a solemn air, gave me a sealed letter, and said, with emotion: "Read this, my friend,—it concerns your future, our future."

Then he pressed my hand and went out.

Here is his letter.

Here are the few simple pages, where Falmouth's noble soul revealed itself in all its greatness.

What was my answer?

Alas! it is the most abominable of my souvenirs.

END OF VOLUME I.

ARTHUR

CONTINUED

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

THE LETTER

Lord Falmouth to Arthur.

"ON BOARD THE YACHT Gazelle."

13 June, 18—.

"I might have told you all that I now mean to write, dear friend, but that I desire you to keep this letter.

"If the projects that I now propose are ever realised, we will read this with pleasure some future day and remember that it was the starting-point of the glorious career that I have imagined for both of us.

"If, on the contrary, fate should separate us, these pages will remain as the true story of the circumstances that inspired the sincere attachment I have for you.

"The first time I met you was at a breakfast given by M. de Cernay. Your agreeable conversation pleased me at first; then, from a peculiar habit of thought I noticed in you, I saw that, with all your charm and cordiality, you would remain for ever separated from your fellow men by an unsurmountable barrier.

"From that moment I began to take a lively interest in you.

"I knew from experience that eccentric characters such as yours suffer cruelly from the isolation to which they condemn themselves; for these proud, sensitive, and easily offended natures can not readily assimilate themselves with the rest of mankind,—they are constantly being wounded or taking offence, and they instinctively create for themselves a solitude in the midst of society.

"I left for England under the domination of such thoughts as these.

"In London I met several of your friends, who spoke in such a way as to confirm the opinion I had formed of you.

"I found you some months after in the house of Madame de Pënâfiel, in whom you seemed much interested.

"As at that time I shared the ill-feeling that was manifested in society towards her, and you had not yet told me of her real worth, I was astonished to see you, of all men, seeking happiness in a liaison with a woman who was recognised as a flirt, for I thought that your great susceptibility must of necessity be continually wounded in such a relation with Madame de Pënâfiel.

"Men like you, my friend, are endowed with such extraordinary tact, finesse, and clear-sightedness, that they are very seldom mistaken in the women on whom they choose to bestow their affections. Is not this true? Were not Hélène and Marguerite both worthy of your love? Therefore, let me advise you in this much, always trust blindly in your first impressions.

"I tell you this because I feel how much I love you, and it must be that you instinctively love me, too.

"Pardon me this digression; let us return to the marquise.

"As long as I saw that you were happy I was only interested in you because so much evil was said about you.

"But very soon this war that was being waged against you became so general and violent, the calumnies were so fierce, that I began to believe Madame de Pënâfiel was worthy of your love and that you deserved hers. Later, you told me everything and I recognised my first error; then came your cruel rupture.

"You have been cruelly punished for your doubts! May Heaven forgive you!

"When you asked me to assist you in helping the husband of your cousin Hélène, the delicacy of your conduct towards him was so touching that you took a higher place in my estimation, a profound admiration; yes, my friend, I admired your disinterestedness more than your manner of acting, because I had discovered that through a fatal quality in your nature you would always find some means of belittling in your own eyes all the merit of this generous act, and that you would not even have the satisfaction of your own conscience.

"For a long time I have been contemplating a voyage to Greece; I saw that you were unhappy and I believed the moment favourable to propose that you should join me in this journey. I shrouded it in mystery in order to excite your curiosity, and when you finally decided to accompany me I was very happy.

"Why was I so happy, my friend? Because, without at all resembling you, bad luck, or my own exigencies, had until now deprived me of tasting the joys of friendship, and I felt myself drawn towards you by a great similarity of character and mind; because I believed that this voyage would be a useful distraction for you; and because I found in it a precious means of binding you to me in fast and enduring bonds of affection.

"I knew that I should have great difficulty in overcoming your distrust, that I would have deep-rooted doubts to conquer, but that did not discourage me, for I had great faith in the persistence of my attachment and the sagacity of your heart; it had chosen Hélène and Marguerite for you to love, why should not I be chosen as your bosom friend?

"However, when I saw what slow progress I was making in your affections, I was afraid that you did not see through the coldness and indifference that I habitually affected.

"Little by little, though, you began to trust me, and a few days after our departure from France we were like brothers.

"The rapid growth of our friendship did not surprise me; there was between us such an affinity, our souls were so magnetised by sympathy, that at the first contact they were joined for ever.

"Once sure of your affection, I began to examine my treasure at my leisure.

"I was like those antiquaries who, when they finally come into possession of a long-coveted rarity, spend hours in examining and admiring its beauty. It was thus that I learned to appreciate your learning and good sense. It was then that I undertook to awaken the good instincts that I believed existed in your nature.

"I was not mistaken. When I had once made this discovery, you were no longer in my eyes a poor, nervous, and irritable child, that we love because it is weak and suffering, but a proud and venturesome young man, with a strong mind, great intelligence, and persuasiveness, who had all defects that were the natural opposites of his virtues.

"The Sardinian mystic attacked us. I had a fearful presentiment, and wished to avoid the combat. That was impossible, and I now thank the fates, for you are almost well again, and I owe my life to you.

"Yes, Arthur, I owe you the life of my body in that I exist; I owe you the life of my soul, because you have become my friend.

"Do you know that unless I felt the strength of my gratitude I should be alarmed.

"For a long time I have been seeking a way to increase your happiness, you have done so much for mine.

"My task has been difficult, for you are possessed of every advantage,—youth, intelligence, name, fortune, and a generous and noble disposition. But I had perceived a fatal tendency which would annihilate all these rare gifts.

"There was the source of all your misfortunes. That was the stream I must ascend to its source, and turn in another direction. If I can only deliver him from this spirit of doubt, I said to myself, would he not then be indebted to me for the enjoyment of all those advantages which doubt now renders useless?

"You have often told me that your fits of defiance and misanthropy were the sole real misfortunes of your life; but do you know what causes these spells of moroseness? The moral inaction in which you live.

"You have a lively, ardent imagination, and, as you give it no aliment, it feeds on you as its victim.

"From this continual reaction of your mind on your heart, from this insatiable need of occupying your thoughts, is born the fatal habit of self-examination, that entices you to such horrid study of your own conduct, and the spirit of analysis that leads you to the discovery of such unworthy motives in others.

"Believe me, my friend, for during many nights I have reflected deeply on your character, and I think I say the truth; believe me, from the moment you give some noble and glorious object to this devouring activity that possesses you, it will be with delight, with ineffable confidence that you will indulge yourself in the tenderest of sentiments. You will then believe blindly, for you will have no time to spend in doubt.

"Before knowing your real value, this voyage to Greece seemed a sufficient occupation for you; but now that I understand you better, I feel that this journey is no more in proportion with the powers of conception I recognise in you. Now that I can count on you as on myself, new horizons are open to my view. It is not in sterile enterprises that I would employ our courage and our intelligence. I have a higher mark, perhaps you will call it a chimera; but reflect awhile, and you will recognise that there are many chances of its proving successful.

"The problem I set myself to solve was this: To render you happy without harm to myself, that is to say, without having to give you up; to give occupation to your fine mind, so that it should not stand between our friendship, and to put to some useful employment those precious gifts which, left idle, change their nature and become hurtful like some generous substances that fermentation changes into poisons. When I spoke to you about England, of her future, of the part I took in the struggle that was to decide the fate of nations, I noticed that you were attentive, curious, moved; noble and eloquent words escaped your lips; you suggested new ideas, which had all the simple boldness of inspiration. I studied your actions, your features, your accent, and all convinced me that if you wished, my friend, you could have a powerful influence on men. Your learning is great, you have studied well, you have an ardent and proud nature, an independent position, and a worthy name. Listen to my project.

"We will go first to Malta, and there we will wait until your recovery, and take the rest that you need. We will give up the fire-ship of Canaris, and will return to England.

"When you were travelling in my country, you were not interested in any serious study; this time, under my guidance, you will study the workings of the English government, her interests, her economics, etc. Then we will go and continue the same studies in Germany, in Russia, and the United States, in order to finish your political education.

"If I had not confidence in your precociousness, my friend, I might tell you not to be alarmed at this serious programme. As we are both young, rich, gay, intelligent, healthy, and bold, we will go, like two brothers who can rely on each other, advancing steadily to our goal, enjoying, in turn, study and pleasure.

"Our social position, and the studies we propose to take up, will oblige us to come in contact with persons of every degree in the social scale, and will force us to meet in each country that we visit all that is best in rank, intellect, and fortune. Can you imagine what is to be the far-off horizon of this brilliant existence, of this ambitious use of all your faculties, the lowest as well as the highest? Do you know what is to be your recompense for such persistent occupation, which is to be mingled with worldly pleasures, and constantly shared by the most affectionate of friends? Do you know? Perhaps the destinies of a great people may be entrusted to your care; you may become a cabinet minister, a premier.

"As to the means we are to employ to attain this end, which may appear to you unattainable, we will talk about it, and you will find that with your name, your fortune, your long political studies, the experience of men and things that we will have gained in our travels, will open every door to you, whether you wish to present yourself in the Chamber of Deputies, or wish to enter a diplomatic career by accepting some important post.

"In any case, my friend, your decision shall be mine. If you remain at Paris as a member of the government, I will accept, at the court of France, a mission that I have heretofore refused; if you desire to be attached to some foreign court, I can confidently rely upon having sufficient influence to be sent to join you there.

"I know that our position is such that neither you nor I have need of these places in order to meet again, and continue the intimacy that we have enjoyed; but, as I have already told you, we must fight with all our strength against your mortal enemy, which is idleness, and fight in a manner worthy of your intellect. Now, my friend, can we have a nobler ambition than the interests of our own two countries, to see our friendship serve as a bond of union for their interests, and make them but as one, as it has served to unite our hearts.

"And say not that this is a dream, a chimera. Men of but mediocre ability have reached the end I propose to you. Even though the success of the journey is uncertain, is not the route a delightful one? How full of future enjoyment will your attempts have been, even admitting that they have failed in their object.

"Come, come, Arthur, take courage; make a noble use of the gifts that have been so liberally bestowed on you; and, above all, my friend, fly from that deadly inaction, which has such a fatal influence on your peace of mind and your heart.

"Oh, yes! Escape from it; for now I assure you your friendship is so dear to me, your happiness so precious, that there is nothing in the world I would not attempt to see them both secured to you, and sheltered by a noble ambition.

"These are my projects,—these are my hopes. What do you think of them, my friend? I have written all this to you because I fear that, should I speak thus, a jest, a doubt on your part, would dull my eloquence, and, as my first aim is to convince you, I have taken this means of being the only speaker.

"By way of being peculiar until the very end, I beg that you will send me a written answer.

"According to your acceptance or refusal of this offer of my sincere friendship, your letter will mark one of the happiest or most unfortunate days of my life.

"H. F."

CHAPTER II

DISTRUST

Before receiving this letter I was perfectly happy; I was filled with confidence and a sense of security in Falmouth's affection for me; I had perfect faith in my love for him; why should these simple and touching pages have turned such a brilliant day into the gloomiest night?

I read over the letter twice.

What struck me at first was the sublime and inexplicable devotion of Lord Falmouth, who, to save me from the idleness he considered fatal to my happiness, invited me to share his voyages, his studies, and even the career that he hoped I would be successful in.

What astonished me very much (indeed, it almost offended me), was the derisive exaggeration in which he spoke of my merits, which, according to him, were quite sufficient to make a cabinet minister of me, or an ambassador, at least.

Unfortunately, I was not born to comprehend such magnificent exaltation of friendship; for Falmouth's offer was so exorbitant, so out of proportion and above any proof I had been able to give him of my affection, that several times I said: "Can it really be to me that he makes such an offer? What have I ever done to deserve it?"

If what I had done for him was quite unworthy such devotion, what motive could he have in making me such an offer,—so much for so little?

It was not without a hard struggle that I gave myself up to such questions, for I could foresee a terrible access of suspicion.

Several times I attempted to turn my thoughts away from the fatal declivity towards which they were dragging me, but I felt myself approaching nearer and nearer the fatal abyss of doubt.

Overcome with alarm, I was on the point of going to Henry, and begging him to save me from myself. I would ask him to explain all that was beyond my comprehension in his admirable devotion, to lift me to his own level, for I was so unused to this radiant and all-powerful friendship, which I could not gaze on without becoming dizzy. But a false and miserable shame held me back. I thought it weak and cowardly, and a humiliating proof of inferiority, when it would have been a touching proof of my confidence and reliance.

In spite of myself, I had the horrible feeling that my affection for Falmouth would share the same fate of all my former affections. This friendship had attained its greatest development, it was about to fill my life with delight, enlarge my future. It was fated that I should destroy it.

I was possessed by a strange sensation,—it was as if my spirit were falling rapidly from an ideal sphere, peopled by the most enchanting beings, towards a dark and boundless desert.

A physical comparison will explain this moral impression. The wings that had so long sustained me in the region of divine faith suddenly failed me, and I fell on the arid and desolate soil of analysis in the midst of the ruins of my first hopes. The faith I had until now preserved of the purity and holiness of friendship was to augment these melancholy ruins.

The more I pondered on Falmouth's admirable proposition, the more I admired its careful, almost paternal solicitude, the less worthy of it I found myself.

I could neither understand nor believe that the service I had rendered him in saving him from threatened danger was worth so much self-sacrifice on his part. This train of thought very soon led me to denying that there was anything really deserving in my conduct towards Henry.

Strange monomania! Contrary to those men who commit base acts, and then employ every means of proving that their conduct was honourable, I succeeded, by dint of sophisms, in vilifying in my own sight an action for which I should have been proud.

After all, said I to myself, what enormous service was it, that Falmouth should make me such a magnificent offer? I saved his life, true; but I would have saved Williams, or the meanest sailor on his yacht, had he been in the same danger.

It was, then, simply an instinctive movement on my part, and not the result of any fixed purpose.

And then had that action been any sacrifice on my part? No, I had not hesitated an instant. Then there was very little merit in it, because value of an action can only be judged by the sacrifice it involves.

A millionaire, giving a gold piece to a beggar, does nothing that appeals to our sympathy; but the beggar, dividing his louis with one who is more unfortunate than himself, appears sublime.

When I once began to consider the truth of such paradoxes, I never could stop.

My bravery was none the less belittled in my eyes.

When I behaved with so much bravery in my struggle with the pirates, did I for an instant think of sustaining the name of Frenchman or the honour of my country before those Englishmen, of chasing from the sea those pirates that infest it, of showing Falmouth that, in spite of the moral weakness of my nature, I at least possessed the courage of action? No; I had simply obeyed the instinct of self-preservation; I had struck blow for blow. I wished to kill, in order not to be killed. Therefore, there was no more greatness nor bravery in my conduct than in the desperate rage of the animal that is brought to bay, and turns ferociously on its enemy.

Then as a last argument against myself, I said: Why is my heart filled with bitterness and sadness? Had my action been really grand, the high sentiments it aroused in me would not already have vanished, to give place to such doubts about Falmouth and myself.

Alas! the terrible conclusion of all these accursed doubts was not far off.

Now that I can reflect on my cruel blindness, I think that I must have been urged on to this pitiless analysis by a miserable jealousy that I dared not admit.

Not being capable of such devotion as that of Falmouth, I doubtless wished to account for it by some vile motive.

Perhaps I wished to escape from his influence that I was beginning to dread.

I made a sort of inventory of what Falmouth offered me, and what he owed me. It was almost like the catalogue of articles left by a dead man.

This was very evident, that the price Falmouth set on the service I had rendered was exorbitant.

Why did he offer me such an exorbitant price?

I had so reviled myself, I felt so ignoble and debased, that I could not believe a word of what he said about the sympathy he felt for me. Had he not told me that, by a delicate sense, he had always been able to select the choice souls for whom he felt an affinity?

How, then, should such a generous nature feel any attraction towards me, so unworthy, so incapable of inspiring affection?

What interest had he to feign this exaggerated affinity?

His name is much more illustrious than mine, his fortune is enormous, his position is of the highest. It is not vanity, then, that draws him towards me.

His courage is well known, he needs no one to defend him.

His mind is lively and original, and for years he has lived alone. He does not want me to amuse him by my conversation.

I was a long time, I admit, trying to discover what was Lord Falmouth's motive.

Suddenly, by dint of plunging into the abyss of hideous instincts, an infernal idea came into my mind.

I had a moment of execrable triumph: I had guessed it.

I thought all could be explained, all could be understood by this abominable interpretation.

I was seized with a horrible vertigo.

CHAPTER III

THE DUEL

I wrote the following hasty lines in answer to Lord Falmouth's admirable letter.