Читать книгу The Emperor and his Double - Ambrose Pratt - Страница 6

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Paolo Gracci was seated one morning on the edge of his pallet in the garret of a building situated in the Rue des Orties. The room was a mean one, bare and ill-furnished, and its grimy ceilings sloped down on all sides to the floor, while only in the centre of the apartment could one stand upright. Before him on a chair was spread out the gorgeous uniform of a colonel. A smile lit up the Corsican's face as he watched it, and with a quaint humor he stood up bare-legged, almost naked, and saluted the gilded trappings on the chair in stiff military fashion. "Good day, citizen colonel," he said delightedly. The uniform, however, remaining silent, he sat down again and extracted from under his pillow a bag of gold, which he counted with all the care of a miser. "Fifty livres! I shall certainly change my lodgings. This is not a fit place to receive ladies, and I pine for their soft companionship, which has been denied to me so long." Having dressed, he buckled on his sword, chuckling to himself as he moved about. Then running his eyes over his dress to assure himself that he had forgotten nothing. "Now to my duel," he cried out bitterly. Citizen colonel, en avant!" He passed through the open door, gaily clanking his spurs and scabbard as he descended the stairs.

Arrived in the street, he ran into the arms of a gentleman whose dress was beautiful to the point of foppishness. "A thousand apologies, Citizen Paolo," said a soft voice.

"What, Fouché?" cried the Corsican.

"Fouché, your humble servant, who is but just on his way to your lodgings, citizen, to pay you his respects. Your uniform becomes you splendidly."

"That is quite true," answered Paolo, and as they passed a shop window at that instant he stopped to ogle himself before a mirror.

"You are, perhaps, about to pay your respects to some belle dame?" suggested Fouché.

"Alas!" replied the Corsican, "I am unacquainted with the ladies of Paris—a poor stranger I."

"Let me present you to some of my friends," said Fouché eagerly.

"With pleasure, citizen," cried Paolo. "The younger and the more beautiful the better!"

Fouché considered. "There is Mdlle. Elise Ismeney. She will receive me at any moment," he said reflectively.

"Ah, but pardon me," interrupted Paolo suddenly. "I have an appointment at the Bois de Boulogne at noon."

"Ah, ha, citizen, you do very well for a stranger who knows nothing of Paris. Is she pretty—a grisette, perhaps?"

"You mistake," said Paolo, "it is an affair of honor."

Fouché smiled. "You are a firebrand, I perceive, citizen—with the steel, I presume."

"Rapiers."

"Do you handle the sword with ease, citizen?"

"So so, citizen Minister."

"You would not care for the police to interrupt the fun?"

"It would not suit me at all, but"—the Corsican looked at Fouché eagerly—"it is to be without seconds," he continued.

"But supposing you should kill him?"

"We have each written a paper exculpating the other in the event of such an accident."

"Can I be of any service to you, Citizen Paolo?" asked Fouché, who was puzzled by a certain reserve in the manner of the Corsican.

The latter was silent for a moment and walked on, his head buried on his chest; then he stopped suddenly and turned with a great appearance of frankness to the Minister of Police.

"Citizen Fouché," he said, abruptly, "you have taken the trouble to offer me your services. That is not without some reason. Confess."

Fouché smiled deprecatingly. "You are the brother of the First Consul; he has admitted so to me."

"Yes, yes," cried Paolo impatiently. "But is it from love of my brother that you extend your favors to me? You hope to profit by making me your friend."

Fouché appeared touched by this bluntness. "What marvellous astuteness!" he cried. "My dear young man, I admire you more each moment that I remain with you. I confess that what you say has some foundation of fact, though, upon my honor, I am greatly taken with you."

The Corsican eagerly held out his hand. "Believe me," he cried, "to those who assist me now I shall be everlastingly grateful. It is in your power, Citizen Fouché, to do me a great service."

"Name it, my friend."

"The First Consul has been annoyed to discover that a brother of his could favor the avocation of a private citizen rather than that of a soldier. He despises civilians, adores soldiers. He thinks I am timid. Well, you see, I defer to his prejudices. I am now a colonel in a ready-made uniform. And—you follow me?"

"Perfectly," answered Fouché, but, nevertheless, with a puzzled frown.

"Well," continued the Corsican, "it is natural that I should wish my brother to be as favorably impressed as possible with me. Is it not so?"

"Certainly," replied Fouché, more puzzled than ever.

"The absolute knowledge that I possess personal courage would assist such an impression?"

"Undoubtedly," said Fouché, in a complete mist.

"It is a fact that Captain Ségur is a brave soldier," said Paolo.

Fouché started. "It is with Ségur that you have this appointment?" he asked.

"That is so," confessed Paolo. "Ségur is a brave soldier and an expert swordsman, I have heard."

"He is said to be a brave soldier and one of the best swordsmen in France," replied Fouché, with some reluctance.

Paolo drummed with his heel upon the pavement.

"I use the small sword indifferently well myself," he said impressively.

A light broke on Fouché. "Ah-ha," he said, "I see. You would like the First Consul to be informed of the result of this duel. That is easy, my friend. Depend upon me——"

The Corsican interrupted the other with a wave of his hand.

"The First Consul would be more apt to believe what he had himself seen," he said insinuatingly.

Fouché frowned—"That would be more difficult," he replied gravely.

"It is already noon," said the Corsican abruptly.

"That leaves me but little time to accomplish your wishes, Citizen Colonel," said Fouché undecidedly.

"Adieu," cried Paolo, with an angry frown, turning rudely away.

"I go, citizen, to perform your mission," said Fouché.

"Au revoir, then, my dear friend," said Paolo, with a pleased smile. "Believe me, you will succeed."

Half an hour afterwards the Corsican entered an unfrequented glade in the Bois de Boulogne, a glade surrounded with shrubs and trees, and far removed from the scope of any ordinary frequenter of the gardens. Here he found Ségur, impatiently pacing up and down. "I give you good day, Citizen Captain," he said blithely.

The officer saluted stiffly. "I imagined that you had forgotten our appointment," he replied coldly, "I have waited for you almost an hour."

"A thousand pardons, Captain Ségur," said Paolo, with the softest of smiles, "I regret exceedingly that I was detained; but," he added, with a graceful bow, "I assure you I shall take care that you will never be detained by me again."

"You mean?" demanded Ségur quietly.

"That I intend to kill you, my friend," answered the Corsican.

Ségur broke into a low laugh of quiet amusement; then turned with a bow to his companion—"I warn you that that will be difficult. I play well."

"It will afford me all the more satisfaction in that case," answered the Corsican.

Ségur, stooping down, opened a long thin mahogany case, disclosing two rapiers, elegant weapons, with their long slender blades, arabesqued, and their hilts richly jewelled. "They belong to my father," he said reflectively. "I have already killed a man with this one. My father—but each blade has a history."

Paolo listened with attention. "I should be sorry to deprive your family of such interesting relics," he said courteously, when the other had finished. "Pray tell me to whom I may consign these weapons after your death."

Ségur seemed a little astonished at his enemy's assurance.

"It is too early yet to speak of my death," he said coldly. "French gentlemen are not accustomed to use braggadocio, or I might tell you it were well for you to say your prayers."

Paolo laughed tauntingly. "French gentlemen?" he repeated, with sneering emphasis.

Ségur restrained himself with difficulty. "I see you wish to taunt me into losing my temper," he said quietly. "You will not succeed. But look to yourself. I tell you I play well." As he spoke he commenced to take off his coat. Paolo on the other hand kneeled down on the grass, proceeding leisurely to examine the swords, and was still so engaged when the other turned to him prepared for the combat.

"You dawdle, citizen," he cried in surprise. "Do me the favor to prepare yourself; it grows late."

Paolo rose languidly and withdrew to a little knoll, where he slowly unbuttoned his tunic, looking eagerly from this point of vantage across the park, as if seeking for someone.

"Hasten, I entreat you," cried out Ségur.

"I thought I heard voices," replied the Corsican.

Ségur's voice rang out full of scorn. "You hoped that you heard voices, citizen, you mean, we are quite private here."

Paolo shrugged his shoulders, but made no reply. Apparently one of his buttons defied him, for his hands fumbled with his coat, and he glanced every moment quickly over his shoulder.

"Shall I assist you?" asked Ségur satirically, moving a few steps nearer.

"I come, I come," answered Paolo, and, with a last glance over his shoulder, he descended the knoll and tearing off his tunic placed it leisurely upon the grass.

"You are evidently in no hurry to despatch me, citizen; it is kind of you," said Ségur.

"Later on," said Paolo curtly, "you will see the truth of what you have said." He kneeled down on the grass and occupied himself for a moment in rubbing some dust from his boots. Ségur, on the other hand, was burning with impatience to commence.

"Select your weapon," he cried.

Paolo shrugged his shoulders, and, declining the proffered sword stood up and leisurely unfastening the wristbands of his shirt, rolled up his sleeves. "Choose your sword, sir," cried Ségur, in a fever of suppressed rage.

Paolo stood over the sword case and looked down at the weapons calmly and critically. "They appear pretty weapons, citizen," he observed.

"Only try one," cried Ségur, in a fury, gripping the hilt of a blade.

"I love a good sword," said the Corsican, with folded arms, quite undisturbed by the other's impatience. "I assure you I use a jewelled blade with much more pleasure than a common weapon. I hate common steel-handled swords. These, I perceive, are inlaid with gold."

"To the devil with your loves and your hates, sir; choose!" shouted Ségur angrily.

Paolo regarded him with irritating calm. "Poor young man," he observed pityingly, "what impetuosity!"

"Sacre bleu!" cried Ségur; "will you fight, or must I spit you like a pig?"

"When you lose your temper, citizen, your teeth show like those of a snarling cur," observed the Corsican tranquilly.

Ségur, with a cry of rage, seized a rapier, rushed forward, presenting the point at the other's breast. But Paolo made no move, and, their eyes meeting, the Frenchman stopped and lowered his point in confusion.

"You are in a hurry, citizen," said Paolo.

"We have already wasted half an hour," stammered Ségur, who was overwhelmed with shame at his action.

"What, half an hour," cried Paolo; "is it so long as that? Come, then, let us commence." He stooped down and, selecting a rapier, measured lengths with the Frenchman.

"Select your position!" said Ségur courteously.

"Come, come, I could hardly expect such generosity from a man who has just proved himself to be a coward. Select yourself!" cried the Corsican, in biting, sneering tones.

With flushed face and furious eyes the Frenchman faced his adversary. "Liar," he shouted, "on guard!" and the steel blades flashed in the sunlight above their heads, then clashed together with a whip-like crack. Ségur pressed the Corsican hotly, and Paolo appeared with difficulty to defend himself, giving ground foot by foot, and retiring always towards the thick clump of bushes at the opening of the dell. Suddenly, however, he stopped in his retreat and with a few brilliant parries, strokes, and counter-strokes, forced Ségur to pay more care to his own defence. For three or four moments the bout lasted, when, with a weary wrist and troubled eyes, Ségur was forced to admit to himself that his adversary was a master of the sword. It was with an anxious heart that he himself at last retreated, to find, however, that Paolo did not follow him, but rested a few paces distant, the point of his sword held downwards, a curious smile turning the edges of his lips.

"Good, good," said the Corsican commendingly, "you fence well, citizen. It will be a pleasure to kill you."

Ségur's eyes gleamed. "I did not know you Corsican fishermen used the sword so well," he sneered.

Paolo smiled. "I have fishermen on my estate in Corsica who could kill a dozen French lapdogs before breakfast."

"What, a bastard with an estate, citizen. Corsica must be getting civilised."

"Your tongue, my dear captain, is sharper than your sword, but, believe me, I will dull them both before long."

"I warn you I am about to charge."

"Bah! Let us see the captain charge!" replied the Corsican.

Next instant the swords clashed again, and this time Ségur tried a trick which had been a favorite with his father—a trick which had already earned for him fame as a swordsman—making a feint at the eyes of his adversary in the course of a rally he forced the Corsican to use the only parry available. The trick consisted in suddenly stooping, and so slipping under an adversary's guard, and then rushing forward, the sword-hilt resting on the thigh, and lodging the point in the throat or neck. Ségur on this occasion, however, had to deal with a man who possessed the eye of a hawk, a wrist of steel, the strength of two ordinary men combined, and a perfect knowledge of fence. He essayed his favorite trick, seemingly with a certainty of success, for Paolo's foot at that moment slipped and he almost fell. Ségur feinted cleverly at the Corsican's eyes, then dropping the hilt of his rapier pushed forward, only to feel, however, his adversary's blade slip like lightning along his own until the point caught his hilt, when the sword was whipped from his hand in a flash, and, unable to stop his rush, he received a rude buffet on his chest from Paolo's clenched hand which sent him backwards crashing heavily to the ground. When he looked up it was to perceive the Corsican handing him back his sword with a polite bow. "You are surely not showing me your best play, citizen. You are perhaps indisposed to-day. Shall we postpone our little pleasure until you take a few more lessons?"

Ségur arose with an oath, and boiling with fury rushed madly upon his enemy, charging with such swiftness and activity that the smile fled from Paolo's lips, and he was put to it to defend himself. Twice the Frenchman drew blood, once wounding his enemy in the shoulder, again in the thigh, when by an incautious movement—a badly recovered assault—he lost complete command of his weapon, and it was sent whirling and flashing past his head, and fell, point downwards, a few yards off in the turf. It was luckily nearer to Ségur than to the other, and he was armed before the Corsican reached him. Paolo was now the attacking party, and he pressed this advantage to the utmost. Twice he beat down his opponent's guard, and could have taken his life, but he was bent upon disarming him, and presently he succeeded in sending Ségur's rapier flying a third time from his grasp. Again Ségur was the quicker in reaching the weapon, and again the swords crossed with a clash, this time slowly and with heavy effort, for both the combatants were tired, and presently they rested by mutual consent, panting for breath and eyeing each other with eager hatred.

Neither had perceived that for several minutes there had been spectators who regarded the duel with keen attention. Three men, nevertheless, stood at the mouth of the glade, silently watching the combat.

"Twice I have refrained from killing you," said Paolo, the words coming still pantingly from his mouth. "Next time it will be different. Captain, say your prayers."

"Silence," cried Ségur, nervously, "your voice poisons me."

The Corsican, for the first time carried away by passion, sprang forward, and forced the Frenchman backwards step by step towards those three silent spectators. Ségur fought desperately, contesting every inch of ground, but his adversary over-matched him at every point, and it became plain in a second or two Paolo's searching blade would find the Frenchman's heart.

Suddenly a stern voice rang like a trumpet through the glade, "Hold there!"

It was a marvellous voice, a voice of command, of power, a voice that instantly put new life into the Frenchman's flagging veins, and would have given him power to fight on, aye, to conquer his terrible adversary, but for the order it contained to the contrary. It was the voice of Napoleon, who stood, with two staff officers, serene and calm, cold as ice, and as firm and hard.

The swords of the combatants were lowered.

"Your swords," said Napoleon.

The two men filed forward, and one after the other handed their swords by the hilt to the First Consul.

"Follow me," said Napoleon. "You are under arrest."