Wearied with walking, he bethought himself where he should go for the night. Not to the barracks. How could he sleep under the same roof with that villain? The very sight of him would goad him on to commit some indecorum before the others. Should he go to his friend Cosin's? No!

Something within made him shrink from encountering, in his present temper, that tranquil eye. He would be all for peace; and what had he to do with peace while her dishonour (as he put it) was unavenged, as well as his own.

However, to walk about all night, especially when by yourself, is not pleasant. Alas, for those who have to do it, and with no relief to come its rounds! So Tournier determined to get quarters at the "Wheat Sheaf,"

and knocked the landlord up, as it was past midnight.

Next morning he went to the barracks, and sent in his name to the commandant, asking for an interview. Major Kelly looked surprised; it was not the usual way of approach.

"I am very sorry, sir," said Tournier, "to trouble you in this irregular way; but the fact is, I am in great perplexity as to what I ought to do, and could not explain myself first to anyone else."

"What is your difficulty, Captain Tournier?" said the major, rather coldly.

"Among the prisoners who arrived yesterday was a certain Colonel Fontenoy, who is my bitterest enemy, having wronged me past all endurance. I cannot be in the same quarters with him. Could you do me the very great kindness of putting me into one of the other wards, even though it be that of common men?"

Major Kelly paused awhile, as if thinking. "Is this Colonel Fontenoy,"

he said, at length, "the same man as he who did indeed wrong you so shamefully, and drove you to desperation?"

"The very same."

"When you first spoke," said the major, "I was going to say that it was quite out of my power to arrange the prisoners with exact regard, or even any regard, to their private quarrels; but then yours is no common case, and I may add, your sensitiveness of no ordinary kind, I will see to the matter. But not to put you among the common men. You can stay in your old quarters, and I will put the colonel into other, and perhaps better ones. Of course I am bound to act justly towards him; and if he behaves himself, he will be out on parole; but I will confine him to the road in the west direction, so that you can keep out of his way."

Major Kelly was as good as his word. But Tournier had no intention of keeping out of the colonel's way, whenever he should get out on parole.

The old feelings, natural but not Christian, had revived in him with a sudden rush at the sight of the man, and he was completely carried away by them. His only fear was lest, through precipitancy, or the interference of others, he should be hindered from obtaining from Fontenoy the satisfaction he demanded, if that be rightly satisfaction which consists in killing or wounding another, or in being killed or wounded oneself.

He never left the barracks for many days after this, but relapsed into his old moody ways. Villemet could not make out what was the matter with him.

One day they were walking together in the yard, when Tournier suddenly said, "Villemet, I want you to do something for me. It will, perhaps, be the last favour you will ever show me."

"Then I would rather not do it."

"But you must. Who do you think is in the prison at this present moment?--Fontenoy. He came with the others some days ago."

"Is it possible?" cried Villemet, almost jumping with astonishment.

"And I want you to be my second: for as soon as ever he gets out on parole, I mean to challenge him, and the duel must be _a l'ontrance_."

"With the greatest possible pleasure," said his friend.

But they had to wait. It was some time before Fontenoy was out on parole. The major was in no hurry about it, out of consideration probably for Tournier.

At last, one day, Villemet, who kept up a sharp enquiry, announced the good news that the colonel was to be out next day. Both of them accordingly were on the watch for him in the road; and, sure enough, saw him coming along towards them, snuffing the air with great delight, and looking about him with evident satisfaction. The satisfaction, however, was not of long duration.

As the colonel's eye caught the first glimpse of two gentlemen approaching him, he seemed to smell, as it were, something wrong, for

"Conscience does make cowards of us all";

and when he came near enough to distinguish features as well as figure, he turned pale, and his effrontery for the moment left him. But it soon came back, and he met Tournier's cruelly stern gaze with a look of careless defiance. Tournier stopped in front of him.

"Colonel Fontenoy," he said, with the coldness of the grave: "my friend here has something to say to you on my behalf."

The colonel began to speak; but Tournier at once silenced him.

"_I_ have nothing to say to you, sir," and pa.s.sed on.

Then Villemet proceeded to execute his commission with all frigid politeness and particularity. It is not worth while to relate what such a man as Fontenoy said on the occasion. But the challenge was accepted.

The seconds were to arrange all the rest.

As the day drew near when, as Tournier learned, the colonel would again be out on parole, he felt a strong desire to make his confession to the bishop. There might be but a step between him and death. Besides, he was not easy in his mind. He was not quite sure he was doing right in thus seeking the life of his enemy.

So he sought and, as always, found a ready hearer in the chaplain. But when he came to tell him what he contemplated doing, the good man looked pained and surprised.

"And do you really think, my son, that the minister of G.o.d can forgive a sin before it is committed? and that sin wilful murder?"

"Murder?"

"Yes, murder!"

"How can that be, when each has an equal chance?"

"Of committing murder!"

"There are many who fight duels."

"There are many who do wrong, my son."

"Then is killing in battle murder?"

"No, for it is not done in revenge. It is the motive that makes killing murder. Your motive is revenge."

And then he went on to urge Tournier, for whom he had entertained the tenderest regard, that he would give up his b.l.o.o.d.y intention, and leave his enemy to G.o.d. He expostulated with him, used the most affectionate entreaties, appealed to the authority of his holy office.

But all in vain. Tournier stoutly, but in the most respectful language, refused to comply, and the bishop refused to grant him absolution.

But Tournier was most unhappy. Let those who remonstrate with another, apparently in vain, remember to their comfort, that oftentimes the remonstrance has not been entirely thrown away. The first blow of the hammer does not drive home the nail, but it begins to do so.

One more evening before the fatal day: That evening he would spend with his friends at the Manor House. He had treated them badly for several weeks, and never gone near them; but they received him just as cordially as ever, and took no notice of his absence, only expressed their pleasure at seeing him, which touched him all the more; and then the thought caused a lump in his throat that, perhaps, he might never see them again.

He did not like to speak of what he was about to do before Alice, because it was an unpleasant subject for ladies' ears, but when she went out of the room, he began at once to tell her brother all, from first to last.

Never had he seen Cosin so greatly disturbed. He listened with open mouth and staring eyes to all that Tournier said without uttering a word.

Not a remark did he make: not a question did he ask. Then, when the tale was told, and Tournier was waiting for some reply, Cosin started from his chair, and began to pace up and down the room in extreme agitation. At length he stopped in front of the other, and said, sternly but sorrowfully,--

"Then, after all, you have given up G.o.d."

"I hope not."

"But you have, on your own shewing: and taken up with the devil."

Tournier writhed under this, and was about to say something sharp, but Cosin went on,--