"Here is a man, who has insulted, in me, a creature favored by divine grace, and who affects not to understand that I require an apology; or else--"
"What?" said Dagobert, without looking at the Prophet.
"Or you must give me satisfaction!--I have already told you that I have seen service.We shall easily find somewhere a couple of swords, and to-
morrow morning, at peep of day, we can meet behind a wall, and show the color of our blood--that is, if you have any in your veins!"
This challenge began to frighten the spectators, who were not prepared for so tragical a conclusion.
"What, fight?--a very, fine idea!" said one."To get yourself both locked up in prison: the laws against duelling are strict."
"Particularly with relation to strangers or nondescripts," added another.
"If they were to find you with arms in your hands, the burgomaster would shut you up in jail, and keep you there two or three months before trial."
"Would you be so mean as to denounce us?" asked Morok.
"No, certainly not," cried several; "do as you like.We are only giving you a friendly piece of advice, by which you may profit, if you think fit."
"What care I for prison?" exclaimed the Prophet."Only give me a couple of swords, and you shall see to-morrow morning if I heed what the burgomaster can do or say."
"What would you do with two swords?" asked Dagobert, quietly.
"When you have one in your grasp, and I one in mine, you'd see.The Lord commands us to have a care of his honor!"
Dagobert shrugged his shoulders, made a bundle of his linen in his handkerchief, dried his soap, and put it carefully into a little oil-silk bag--then, whistling his favorite air of Tirlemont, moved to depart.
The Prophet frowned; he began to fear that his challenge would not be accepted.He advanced a step or so to encounter Dagobert, placed himself before him, as if to intercept his passage, and, folding his arms, and scanning him from head to foot with bitter insolence, said to him: "So!
an old soldier of that arch-robber, Napoleon, is only fit for a washerwoman, and refuses to fight!"
"Yes, he refuses to fight," answered Dagobert, in a firm voice, but becoming fearfully pale.Never, perhaps, had the soldier given to his orphan charge such a proof of tenderness and devotion.For a man of his character to let himself be insulted with impunity, and refuse to fight --the sacrifice was immense.
"So you are a coward--you are afraid of me--and you confess it?"
At these words Dagobert made, as it were, a pull upon himself--as if a sudden thought had restrained him the moment he was about to rush on the Prophet.Indeed, he had remembered the two maidens, and the fatal hindrance which a duel, whatever might be the result, would occasion to their journey.But the impulse of anger, though rapid, had been so significant--the expression of the stern, pale face, bathed in sweat, was so daunting, that the Prophet and the spectators drew back a step.
Profound silence reigned for some seconds, and then, by a sudden reaction, Dagobert seemed to have gained the general interest.One of the company said to those near him; "This man is clearly not a coward."
"Oh, no! certainly not."
"It sometimes requires more courage to refuse a challenge than to accept one."
"After all the Prophet was wrong to pick a quarrel about nothing--and with a stranger, too."
"Yes, for a stranger, if he fought and was taken up, would have a good long imprisonment."
"And then, you see," added another, "he travels with two young girls.In such a position, ought a man to fight about trifles? If he should be killed or put in prison, what would become of them, poor children?"
Dagobert turned towards the person who had pronounced these last words.
He saw a stout fellow, with a frank and simple countenance; the soldier offered him his hand, and said with emotion:
"Thank you, sir."
The German shook cordially the hand, which Dagobert had proffered, and, holding it still in his own, he added: "Do one thing, sir--share a bowl of punch with us.We will make that mischief-making Prophet acknowledge that he has been too touchy, and he shall drink to your health."
Up to this moment the brute-tamer, enraged at the issue of this scene, for he had hoped that the soldier would accept his challenge, looked on with savage contempt at those who had thus sided against him.But now his features gradually relaxed; and, believing it useful to his projects to hide his disappointment, he walked up to the soldier, and said to him, with a tolerably good grace: "Well, I give way to these gentlemen.I own I was wrong.Your frigid air had wounded me, and I was not master of myself.I repeat, that I was wrong," he added, with suppressed vexation;
"the Lord commands humility--and--I beg your pardon."
This proof of moderation and regret was highly appreciated and loudly applauded by the spectators."He asks your pardon; you cannot expect more, my brave fellow?" said one of them, addressing Dagobert."Come, let us all drink together; we make you this offer frankly--accept it in the same spirit."
"Yes, yes; accept it, we beg you, in the name of your pretty little girls," said the stout man, hoping to decide Dagobert by this argument.
"Many thanks, gentlemen," replied he, touched by the hearty advances of the Germans; "you are very worthy people.But, when one is treated, he must offer drink in return."
"Well, we will accept it--that's understood.Each his turn, and all fair.We will pay for the first bowl, you for the second."
"Poverty is no crime," answered Dagobert; "and I must tell you honestly that I cannot afford to pay for drink.We have still a long journey to go, and I must not incur any useless expenses."
The soldier spoke these words with such firm, but simple dignity, that the Germans did not venture to renew their offer, feeling that a man of Dagobert's character could not accept it without humiliation.
