The Belle of Bowling Green
came to her as a finality, and she ceased weeping and protesting and lay
dumb and passive like a child smitten by a power it can neither appease
nor comprehend.
Her mother found her in this mood, and when Sappha said, “I cannot come
to dinner to-day, I am in trouble. Annette told me things about Leonard,
and I have sent him away forever!” the mother understood and was full of
pity.
“Do not try to come down, dear,” she answered. “As soon as your father
goes out, I will return to you.”
“Are you better, mother? Are you able to attend to father?”
“Yes, yes, I am well again. Ah, me, there is always sorrow at somebody’s
heart!”
“It is my own fault, mother. Leonard is not to blame. I will tell
you--after a little while.”
Then Mrs. Bloommaert went with a heavy heart to serve the dinner; for
whether heads are aching or hearts breaking dinner is a fact that cannot
be excused. She was full of anxious thought as she went about the
table, placing sauces, condiments, and wines, and arranging the small
details which always pleased her husband. He had been depressed and
angry concerning Leonard Murray’s conduct for some days, and she
wondered how the news of Sappha’s dismissal of the young man would
affect him.
Contrary to all expectation he entered the house in high spirits. He was
delighted to find his wife better, and able to give him her company and
sympathy; and as soon as they were alone he began to talk to her about
Leonard in a manner full of pride and satisfaction. Nor was he much
dashed by the information that there had been a quarrel between the
lovers, and a final separation.
“Final separation!” he repeated, with an incredulous laugh. “Nonsense.
That is a regular climax to a love fever. They will be more devoted than
ever in a week’s time. Tell her what I have just told you, and they will
be friends in half an hour.”
“I fear not. Leonard has shown wonderful patience so far, but my father
used to say ‘beware the anger of a patient man’; for when once his
patience has given way, his anger is not to be pacified.”
“All foolishness, Carlita. Go and tell Sappha everything. I promised to
meet St. Ange about three o’clock; you see I have not any time to spare
now.”
“I do not know what Annette said to Sappha--something ill-natured, no
doubt; but I wonder St. Ange did not give her strict orders to keep her
tongue quiet about this business.”
“You wonder St. Ange did not give Annette ‘strict orders.’ Well,
Carlita, I wonder at your simplicity. Who can order a bad-tempered
woman’s tongue? Tell Sappha I have gone with St. Ange to see Leonard.
Doubtless I shall bring him home with me.”
He went out with this pleasant anticipation, and Mrs. Bloommaert
arranged a little dinner for her daughter, and sent it upstairs to her.
“You must eat, Sappha,” she said, “you can’t live on your tears. And I
have good news for you--very good news. See now, how nice this roast
chicken looks, and the beans, and the strawberry tart; and I made the
tea myself; yes, dear, you must have a cup of tea, and you must first
tell me all that Annette, the cruel ill-natured woman, said to you.”
This confidence helped Sappha wonderfully. She could rightly enough
blame Annette, and there was relief in shifting so much of the reproach
from herself. And Mrs. Bloommaert felt no scruple in throwing the whole
weight of the unfortunate affair on Annette. “It would never have
happened, never!” she said, “if Annette had been minding her house and
her baby instead of following Achille round; and then because she could
not find him she must come and vent her home-made wretchedness on you. I
wish I had heard her! She called Leonard a coward, did she?”
“She said every respectable person thought him one, and she repeated
many things about him getting enormous interest from the city--oh,
mother, I cannot go over it again.”
“There is no need to do so. Leonard Murray has turned all such ideas
topsy-turvy. Now I am going to tell you all about it, and you will see
how well he has managed this miserable business. On Sunday he went to
see Achille, and Achille told him he could forbear no longer, and though
Leonard thought it was a kind of cowardice to fight a man so inferior in
skill both with sword and pistol to himself, Achille convinced him there
was no other way to prevent Gilson lying. So early on Monday morning
Achille called upon Gilson. He first presented to him a paper
acknowledging all his accusations against Leonard to be false and
malicious, requiring him to sign it. But Gilson fell into a great
passion, and said he would fight St. Ange for daring to offer him such
an insult; and Achille answered, ‘it would give him a supreme pleasure
to allow him an opportunity as soon as his friend, Mr. Murray, had
received satisfaction.’ Then he gave him Leonard’s challenge. The fellow
threw it carelessly down on the table, and said ‘he was going to Boston
on important affairs, but when he returned he would make immediate
arrangements to meet Mr. Murray and teach him to mind his own business.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Achille, ‘you will meet Mr. Murray before you go
to Boston. You will meet him to-morrow morning at half-past seven
o’clock in Hahn’s wood, Hoboken. You know the place. Or if there is any
other place you prefer, I am here to make arrangements.’ Gilson said,
‘one place was as good as another.’ Then they agreed that the weapons
should be rapiers, and Gilson laughed scornfully, and ‘hoped the
clearing at Hahn’s wood was not too large, for he intended close
quarters. Murray,’ he said, ‘could not have half an acre to skip about
in.’ To which fresh insult Achille answered that if Mr. Gilson wished
close quarters he felt sure Mr. Murray would be delighted to fight on a
billiard table.”
“I like Achille, mother, yes I do!”
“Achille is a good friend in need. He made all other arrangements for
the duel, and Gilson promised that he and his friend Myron Hays would be
on the ground at half-past seven the following morning. He used a deal
of very bad language in making these arrangements. Your father said we
could imagine it as bad as we chose, and that then it would come far
short of the reality.”
“So there was a duel this morning! Oh, mother, if I had only known!”
“Do not hurry me, Sappha. I want to tell you all just as it happened.
Leonard did not trust Gilson’s promise, nor did Achille. They determined
to watch him; and they found out two things: first, that he intended
leaving New York for Boston soon after seven; second, that he had
ordered breakfast for himself and Myron Hays fifteen minutes before
seven at the City Hotel.”
“But, mother, Gilson must have known that Leonard stayed at the City
Hotel?”
“Of course he knew; but he felt sure Leonard would be crossing the river
at that time. Then he would have taken his breakfast, sending the while
repeated inquiries as to whether any one had seen Leonard or St. Ange,
and affecting great indignation at their non-appearance. Finally some
insolent message of future defiance and punishment would have been left
with the proprietor for Leonard. Oh, can you not see through the
foolish, cowardly plan?”
“It was a contemptible scheme, and full of weak points, mother,”
answered Sappha.
“It would have answered well enough; it would, at least, have thrown
doubt and contempt on both men. Fortunately Leonard and St. Ange
followed Gilson so closely that they were at his side ere he had
finished giving the order for serving his coffee. ‘At present,’ said St.
Ange very politely, ‘there is not time for coffee. We will cross the
river at once, sir,’ and Gilson answered, ‘I am going to Boston on most
important business. Mr. Murray must have got my letter explaining.’ Then
Leonard said, ‘You never wrote me any letter, sir. And you are not going
to Boston, you are going to Hoboken, and that at once.’ Gilson still
insisted that he would fight Leonard when he came back from Boston, and
St. Ange told him he could have that satisfaction if he wished it; but
first of all, he must fulfil his present engagement. ‘All is ready for
it, he continued; ‘a boat waits for you and Mr. Hays at the foot of the
garden, and another boat for Mr. Murray and myself will keep yours in
sight.’ Then the man looked at his second, and Mr. Hays said it was
proper to go at once, and he was thus morally, or unmorally, forced into
compliance. At the last moment Gilson ‘supposed arms and a doctor had
been remembered,’ and St. Ange told him those duties had been delegated
to him and properly attended to. ‘The doctor,’ he said, ‘was in their
boat, and the swords also,’ the latter having been approved by Mr. Hays
on the previous day, at which time it was also agreed that Gilson should
have his choice of the two weapons. St. Ange told your father there had
been several irregularities, but that all had been arranged with perfect
fairness by himself and Mr. Hays.”
At this juncture Sappha lost all control of her emotions and began to
weep and lament; and her mother rather sharply continued: “Tears are not
needed at all, Sappha. Leonard was perfectly calm. Of his own safety he
had not a fear. He and St. Ange kept Gilson’s boat in sight until they
landed; then the ground was marked off, and the men threw away their
coats and vests and received their swords from the seconds. I cannot
tell you just what happened, but your father could make it plain enough
I dare say. To me it was only thrust and parry, touch and go, for a few
minutes, then Leonard made a feint at Gilson’s breast, but by a movement
instantaneous as a thought nailed his right foot to the ground with his
rapier. The man shrieked, and would have seized Leonard’s sword, but
that action was instantly prevented by the seconds. The affair was over.
Gilson was at Leonard’s mercy, and when he withdrew his sword St. Ange
said, ‘Doctor, the case is now yours. And then turning to Gilson he
continued, ‘Mr. Gilson, if you cannot control your tongue in the future,
we will do this as often as you like.’”
“I hope the man will not die, mother!”
“Oh, no! Leonard intended only to punish him. He will have a few weeks’
severe pain, and may have to use a crutch for a longer time--perhaps he
may not dance any more; but he only received what he richly deserved.”
“But I do not see, mother, how this duel will put Leonard right in
people’s estimation.”
“Oh, my dear, St. Ange took good care to secure witnesses to Gilson’s
cowardly attempt to get away; and the men who rowed the two boats were
there, to report for the newspapers. They heard much conversation I have
not repeated. Your father also thinks Myron Hays, though he would not
say much, was deceived and very indignant. You may be sure that St. Ange
and Leonard arranged for a full vindication. Now, Sappha, wash your face
and dress yourself prettily. Father said he would bring Leonard back to
tea with him.”
“Leonard will not come with father. He will never come again, I know! I
know!”
“If he does not, his behaviour will be cruel and dishonourable. Why did
he not tell you about the duel!”
“He could not--I did not give him a moment’s opportunity. It was my
fault--all my fault. I was so angry at what Annette told me that I met
him in a passion, and before he had time to tell me why he had stayed
away and what had occurred I shocked him with Annette’s false charges,
one upon the other, without any pause, until I told him that Annette was
going to shut her door against him. Then he asked me if we also intended
to shut our door against him, and mother, I have no excuse--there is no
excuse for me, none! I ought to suffer. Oh, how miserable I am! And,
mother, mother, I have made my own misery.”