Father d'Aigrigny understood it all.He remembered how, a few days before, Rodin had obstinately pressed him to say what he would do if the marshal were to strike him in the face.There could be no doubt that he, who thought to have held the fate of Rodin in his hands, had been brought by the latter into a fearful peril; for he knew that, the two outer rooms being closed, there was no possibility of making himself heard, and that the high walls of the garden only bordered upon some vacant lots.The first thought which occurred to him, one by no means destitute of probability, was that Rodin, either by his agents at Rome, or by his own incredible penetration, had learned that his fate depended on Father d'Aigrigny, and hoped therefore to get rid of him, by delivering him over to the inexorable vengeance of the father of Rose and Blanche.Without speaking a word, the marshal unbound the handkerchief from his waist, laid the two swords upon the table, and, folding his arms upon his breast, advanced slowly towards Father d'Aigrigny.Thus these two men, who through life had pursued each other with implacable hatred, at length met face to face--they, who had fought in hostile armies, and measured swords in single combat, and one of whom now came to seek vengeance for the death of his children.As the marshal approached, Father d'Aigrigny rose from his seat.He wore that day a black cassock, which rendered still more visible the pale hue, which had now succeeded to the sudden flush on his cheek.For a few seconds, the two men stood face to face without speaking.The marshal was terrific in his paternal despair.His calmness, inexorable as fate, was more impressive than the most furious burst of anger.
"My children are dead," said he at last, in a slow and hollow tone."I come to kill you."
"Sir," cried Father d'Aigrigny, "listen to me.Do not believe--"
"I must kill you," resumed the marshal, interrupting the Jesuit; "your hate followed my wife into exile, where she perished.You and your accomplices sent my children to certain death.For twenty years you have been my evil genius.I must have your life, and I will have it."
"My life belongs, first, to God," answered Father d'Aigrigny, piously, "and then to who likes to take it."
"We will fight to the death in this room," said the marshal; "and, as I have to avenge my wife and children, I am tranquil as to the result."
"Sir," answered Father d'Aigrigny, coldly, "you forget that my profession forbids me to fight.Once I accepted your challenge--but my position is changed since then."
"Ah!" said the marshal, with a bitter smile; "you refuse to fight because you are a priest?"
"Yes, sir--because I am a priest."
"So that, because he is a priest, a wretch like you may commit any crime, any baseness, under shelter of his black gown?"
"I do not understand a word of your accusations.In any case, the law is open," said Father d'Aigrigny, biting his pale lips, for he felt deeply the insult offered by the marshal; "if you have anything to complain of, appeal to that law, before which all are equal."
Marshal Simon shrugged his shoulders in angry disdain."Your crimes escape the law--and, could it even reach you, that would not satisfy my vengeance, after all the evil you have done me, after all you have taken from me," said the marshal; and, at the memory of his children, his voice slightly trembled; but he soon proceeded, with terrible calmness: "You must feel that I now only live for vengeance.And I must have such revenge as is worth the seeking--I must have your coward's heart palpitating on the point of my sword.Our last duel was play; this will be earnest--oh! you shall see."
The marshal walked up to the table, where he had laid the two swords.
Father d'Aigrigny needed all his resolution to restrain himself.The implacable hate which he had always felt for Marshal Simon, added to these insults, filled him with savage ardor.Yet he answered, in a tone that was still calm: "For the last time, sir, I repeat to you, that my profession forbids me to fight."
"Then you refuse?" said the marshal, turning abruptly towards him.
"I refuse."
"Positively?"
"Positively.Nothing on earth should force me to it."
"Nothing."
"No, sir; nothing."
"We shall see," said the marshal, as his hand fell with its full force on the cheek of Father d'Aigrigny.
The Jesuit uttered a cry of fury; all his blood rushed to his face, so roughly handled; the courage of the man (for he was brave), his ancient military ardor, carried him away; his eyes sparkled, and, with teeth firmly set, and clenched fists, he advanced towards the marshal, exclaiming: "The swords! the swords!"
But suddenly, remembering the appearance of Rodin, and the interest which the latter had in bringing about this encounter, he determined to avoid the diabolical snare laid by his former socius, and so gathered sufficient resolution to restrain his terrible resentment.
To his passing fury succeeded a calm, full of contrition; and, wishing to play his part out to the end, he knelt down, and bowing his head and beating his bosom, repeated: "Forgive me, Lord, for yielding to a movement of rage! and, above all, forgive him who has injured me!"
In spite of his apparent resignation, the Jesuit's voice was neatly agitated.He seemed to feel a hot iron upon his cheek, for never before in his life, whether as a soldier or a priest, had he suffered such an insult.He had thrown himself upon his knees, partly from religious mummery, and partly to avoid the gaze of the marshal, fearing that, were he to meet his eye, he should not be able to answer for himself, but give way to his impetuous feelings.On seeing the Jesuit kneel down, and on hearing his hypocritical invocation, the marshal, whose sword was in his hand, shook with indignation.
"Stand up, scoundrel!" he said, "stand up, wretch!" And he spurned the Jesuit with his boot.
