The Pit Town Coronet Volume I Part 13

Barb.i.+.c.he and Haggard took their places. The old general stood between them, but a little to one side; he held his stick, with the point raised a little from the ground, ready to dash aside the blades the instant that blood should be drawn.

"_En garde, messieurs_," exclaimed De Kerguel.

Both men put themselves at once on the defensive: their blades crossed, but the att.i.tudes were different and characteristic. Barb.i.+.c.he, drawing himself up to his full height, raised his left arm while standing face to face with his adversary, brought the point of his weapon close to his finger tips in salute, and then fell at once into the regulation position of the French fencing schools--the right foot well forward, both knees considerably bent, the left arm high in air, the elbow at a right angle. He kept his sword pointed at the eyes of his adversary; but he never rested for an instant. He evidently meant business.

Haggard, on the contrary, a.s.sumed a totally different posture. His left arm was behind his back, the hand clenched, the right leg perfectly straight. He held the sabre lower, but the point was kept unwaveringly at the chest of his enemy; his teeth were set. On his face was that quasi-good-humoured smile, which is alike a.s.sumed by the British boxer and the British ballet-girl when exhibiting their arts.

The Frenchman's blade scintillated in the setting sun around Haggard's more stiffly held weapon. As it grated against it, first on one side then on the other, Barb.i.+.c.he made pa.s.s after pa.s.s, feint after feint at his impa.s.sive adversary. Suddenly he sprang forward with cat-like agility, his left hand touching the ground, and he made a rapid pa.s.s from below upwards at the Englishman; his point pa.s.sed dangerously near his ribs. It was the well-known extension _en seconde_; a favourite trick among Parisian swordsmen of the Romantic school. The attempt failed, and was followed by a rapid succession of miscellaneous thrusts and pa.s.ses in bewildering variety. The Frenchman never withdrew his blade; but his very anxiety to make a hit was defeating itself. Such tactics with the light rapier or small-sword are doubtless correct; but Barb.i.+.c.he forgot the weight of his weapon, and the muscles of his arm were already beginning to tire.

As that experienced swordsman, General Pepper, standing with stick extended, viewed the fight, it seemed to him that Haggard, by remaining purely on the defensive, ran a considerable risk, but that was Haggard's business. Perhaps after all his princ.i.p.al meant to take a flesh wound, and so end the matter. "But," thought the general to himself, "he'll find out his mistake, if that dancing devil gets in one of his vicious thrusts." Spunyarn looked on, and the perspiration streamed from his face. De Kerguel was no less excited, but he preserved a calm exterior.

More than two minutes had now elapsed since the combat had first commenced. These things take longer to tell than to do. Suddenly, in an instant, Barb.i.+.c.he made a furious lunge at his opponent; the Englishman parried it with ease, dropping his point lower than usual. As if blind to the consequences, the Frenchman rushed forward with a short sharp cry, his sword pa.s.sed across Haggard's chest without touching him, but poor Barb.i.+.c.he had literally impaled himself on his adversary's extended weapon. His sabre dropped from his hand. He flung both his arms high in air, giving one bitter shriek. His face a.s.sumed the expression of one enduring intense torture, and then was calm again. The body, for he was dead, _slipped off_ Haggard's sword in a heap at his feet. Haggard flung his weapon to the ground, and all four men crowded round the corpse.

"He is stone dead," said the surgeon.

There was a solemn silence.

"Save yourselves, gentlemen," at length cried De Kerguel. "I will see to my unfortunate friend. It was his own fault and _mine_," he said with a sigh.

The Englishmen saluted. Haggard resumed his garments, and they hurried from the field, un.o.bserved and unmolested.

Next morning Rome rang with the affair; by noon all three Englishmen were safely over the frontier.

CHAPTER XII.

THE VILLA LAMBERT.

Twenty-four hours at a Genevese hotel were got through by Georgie and her cousin without difficulty.

"I do think," said Lucy, "that Reginald might have brought us here himself. I confess that a _tete-a-tete_ of two women is dull; when they are almost sisters, as a rule it's duller still; though the dulness is frequently enlivened by a pitched battle. Georgie, why are you not of a pugnacious disposition? My fingers literally itch to box some one's ears; as for Hephzibah, I've no patience with her."

"I noticed that you had set her crying again, Lucy, for about the tenth time to-day."

"And serve her right, she's over head and ears in love with that priceless jewel, your husband's man; it's as plain as the nose on her face, and there's no doubt of the plainness of that. I know the symptoms, they are unmistakable: they always are, among the ministering cla.s.ses. He was Capt before, now it's 'Mr. Capt' here and 'Mr. Capt'

there. Mistering is always the first sign, Georgie. No, I've no patience with her at all. It appears he gave her a thermometer about a week ago; she has carried this thing about in her pocket ever since; the mercury has got separated, and she pa.s.ses her whole time in weeping and shaking the horrid thing, and trying to get it back again. Now I ask you, Georgie, just look at her."

A mirror, turned towards an open door, disclosed the lovelorn Hephzibah in the next room. Her proceedings were sufficiently grotesque. In her hand she held a small ornamental thermometer; she would shake it violently in the air, she would then regard it intently with a puzzled expression, then she would shake her head and proceed to furiously agitate it once more. Failing in her purpose, she wept bitterly.

Good-natured as Georgina was, she could not resist a smile.

"Hephzibah, you fool, come here," cried Lucy.

The maid at once secreted the thermometer in her bosom.

"Why do you hide the nasty thing?" said Lucy.

"Oh, miss, I'm ashamed."

"And what are you crying for?"

"Please, miss, because of the omen."

"What do you mean?" said Georgina; "do calm yourself, Hephzibah."

"Oh, miss, only look," cried the girl, as she took the scientific love-token from its hiding place; "the quicksilver have separated, never to be re-united, and isn't that an omen, miss?" Here the maid shook the thermometer with redoubled fury.

"You stupid creature, so you believe in all that nonsense, do you?"

"I may be stupid, Miss Lucy, but I've never known a sign or omen fail.

Didn't the cook at The Warren, miss, predict, with coffee grounds, that I should be engaged to a foreign gentleman, but that some one younger and more beautiful would prove a jealous rival? Here I am engaged, miss, or as good, to Mr. Capt; and I know what this omen means. You may laugh, miss, but it's a very serious thing."

"I shouldn't wonder at all, Hephzibah; the hotel prospectus says there are no less than fifty chambermaids here. Perhaps even fifty jealous rivals."

"Mr. Capt don't demean himself to chambermaids, Miss Lucy," retorted the abigail with angry scorn.

"Oh, I've no doubt Capt is ambitious; perhaps he looks higher. Perhaps I shall be your rival, Hephzibah."

"You wouldn't have the heart to do it, miss," said the girl in all seriousness.

Mrs. Haggard gave her cousin a reproving glance, but Lucy imperturbably continued:

"Well, Hephzibah," she said, "I think you may consider yourself safe from me, at least; but I'll help you if you'll let me."

Ladies don't wink, they only imperceptibly droop their eyelids, but the glance that Lucy gave her cousin was terribly like a wink, and br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with malice.

"Yes," she went on. "Light that candle, you stupid creature; now hold your thermometer close to the flame; we shall soon see what the omen is worth."

The maid did as she was bid, and carefully watched the tube.

"Well, are the separated fates getting any nearer?" inquired the young mistress with affected solicitude.

"Oh, miss, they are coming together gradually, but very slowly, miss."

"Get the thing nearer to the candle, then."

Poor Hephzibah obeyed; she little suspected the heartless trick played at her expense.

"Oh, miss," she delightedly exclaimed, "they'll join in another instant."

Bang went the fragile bulb, as it splintered into a thousand atoms, and the mercury shot in sparkling globules over the table.

Lucy's ringing laugh resounded through the room.

But the matter was no joke to Hephzibah, her pale lips became colourless; she pressed her hand to her heart with a gesture full of anguish, recovered herself with difficulty, gave forth a few short sharp sobs, cast an almost menacing look upon her younger mistress, then turned and rushed from the room.

"How could you have the heart to tease her so?" said Georgie with honest indignation. "I'm ashamed of you, Lucy; you've no right to trifle with her feelings."