The Duel by Joseph Conrad - Part 7 of 7

In this affair of honor, I understand there has been, from first to last, always something that no one in the army could quite make out," declared the Chausseur with the imperfect nose. In mystery it began, in mystery it went on, in mystery it is to end, apparently. General Hubert walked home with long, hasty strides, by no means uplifted by a sense of triumph. He had conquered, yet it did not seem to him that he had gained very much by his conquest. The night before he had grudged the risk of his life, which appeared to him magnificent, worthy of preservation, as an opportunity to win a girl's love, he had known moments when, by a marvelous illusion, this love seemed to be already his, and his threatened life a still more magnificent opportunity of devotion. Now that his life was safe, it had suddenly lost its special magnificence. It had acquired instead a specially alarming aspect as a snare for the exposure of unworthiness. As to the marvelous illusion of conquered love that had visited him for a moment in the agitated watches of the night, which might have been his last on earth, he comprehended now its true nature. It had been merely a paroxysm of delirious conceit. Thus to this man, sobered by the victorious issue of a duel, life appeared robbed of its charm, simply because it was no longer menaced. Approaching the house from the back, through the orchard and the kitchen garden, he could not notice the agitation which reigned in front. He never met a single soul, only while walking softly along the corridor, he became aware that the house was awake, and more noisy than usual. Names of servants were being called out down below in a confused noise of coming and going. With some concern, he noticed that the door of his own room stood ajar, though the shutters had not been opened yet. He had hoped that his early excursion would have passed unperceived. He expected to find some servant just gone in, but the sunshine filtering through the usual cracks enabled him to see, lying on the low divan, something bulky, which had the appearance of two women clasped in each other's arms. Tearful and desolate murmurs issued mysteriously from that appearance. General Hubert pulled open the nearest pair of shutters violently. One of the women then jumped up. It was his sister. She stood for a moment with her hair hanging down and her arms raised straight up above her head, and then flung herself with a stifled cry into his arms. He returned her embrace, trying at the same time to disengage himself from it. The other woman had not risen. She seemed, on the contrary, to cling closer to the divan, hiding her face in the cushions. Her hair was also loose. It was admirably fair. General Hubert recognized it with staggering emotion. Mademoiselle de Valmacieux, at L.A., in distress. He became greatly alarmed and got rid of his sister's hug definitely. Madame Leone then extended her shapely bare arm out of her peignoir, pointing dramatically at the divan. This poor, terrified child has rushed here from home, on foot, two miles, running all the way. What on earth has happened? asked General Hubert in a low, agitated voice. But Madame Leone was speaking loudly. She rang the great bell at the gate and roused all the household. We were all asleep yet. You imagine what a terrible shock. Adele, my dear child, sit up. General Hubert's expression was not that of a man who imagines with facility. He did, however, fish out of the chaos of surmises the notion that his protective mother-in-law had died suddenly, but only to dismiss it at once. He could not conceive the nature of the event or the catastrophe which would induce Mademoiselle de Damasagu living in a house full of servants to bring the news over the fields herself, two miles, running all the way. But why are you in this room? he whispered, full of awe. Of course I ran up to see. And this child, I did not notice it. She followed me. It's that absurd chevalier, went on Madame Leone, looking towards the Navon. Her hair has all come down. You may imagine she did not stop to call her maid to dress it before she started. Adele, my dear, sit up. He blurted it all out to her at half-past five in the morning. She woke up early and opened her shutters to breathe the fresh air and saw him sitting collapsed on a garden bench at the end of the great alley. At that hour, you may imagine. And the evening before, he had declared himself indisposed. She hurried on some clothes and flew down to him. One would be anxious for less. He loves her, but not very intelligently. He had been up all night, fully dressed, the poor old man, perfectly exhausted. He wasn't in a state to invent a plausible story. What a confidant you chose there! My husband was furious. He said, we can't interfere now. So he sat down to wait. It was awful. And this poor child, running with her hair loose over here publicly. She has been seen by some people in the fields. She has roused the whole household, too. It's awkward for her. Luckily, you are to be married next week. Adele, sit up. He has come home on his own legs. We expected to see you coming on a stretcher, perhaps. What do I know? Let's see if the carriage is ready. I must take this child home at once. It isn't proper for her to stay here a minute longer. General Hubert did not move. It was as though he had heard nothing. Madame Leone changed her mind. I will go and see myself, she cried. I want also my cloak, Adele, she began, but did not add, sit up. She went out saying, in a very loud and cheerful tone, I leave the door open. General Hubert made a movement towards the divan, but then Adele sat up, and that checked him dead. He thought, I haven't washed this morning. I must look like an old tramp. There is earth on the back of my coat, and pine needles in my hair. It occurred to him that the situation required a good deal of circumspection on his part. I am greatly concerned, mademoiselle, he began vaguely, and abandoned that line. She was sitting up on the divan, with her cheeks unusually pink, and her hair brilliantly fair, falling all over her shoulders, which was a very novel sight to the general. He walked away, up the room, and looking out of the window for safety, said, I fear you must think I behaved like a madman, an accent of sincere despair. Then he spun round and noticed that she had followed him with her eyes. They were not cast down on meeting his glance, and the expression of her face was novel to him also. It was, one might have said, reversed. Those eyes looked at him with grave thoughtfulness, while the exquisite lines of her mouth seemed to suggest a restrained smile. This change made her transcendental beauty much less mysterious, much more accessible to a man's comprehension, An amazing ease of mind came to the general, and even some ease of manner. He walked down the room with as much pleasurable excitement as he would have found in walking up to a battery, vomiting death, fire, and smoke, then stood looking down with smiling eyes at the girl whose marriage with him, next week, had been so carefully arranged by the wise, the good, the admirable Leonie. Ah, mademoiselle, he said in a tone of courtly regret, if only I could be certain that you did not come here this morning, two miles, running all the way, merely from affection for your mother. He waited for an answer, imperturbable, but inwardly elated. It came in a demure murmur, eyelashes lowered with fascinating effect. You must not be méchant as well as mad. Then General Hubert made an aggressive movement towards the divan, which nothing could check. That piece of furniture was not exactly the line of the open door, but Madame Leonie, coming back, wrapped up in a light cloak and carrying a lace shawl on her arm for Adele to hide her incriminating hair under, had a swift impression of her brother getting up from his knees. Come along, my dear child, she cried from the doorway. General Now, himself again in the fullest sense, showed the readiness of a resourceful cavalry officer and the preemptoriness of a leader of men. You don't expect her to walk to the carriage, he said indignantly. She is unfit. I shall carry her downstairs. This he did, slowly, followed by his odd and respectful sister. But he rushed back like a whirlwind to wash off all the signs of the night, of anguish and the mourning of war, on the festive garments of a conqueror, before hurrying over to the other house. Had it not been for that, General Hubert felt capable of mounting a horse and pursuing his late adversary in order simply to embrace him from excess of happiness. I owe it all to this stupid brute, he thought. He has made plain in a morning what might have taken me years to find out. For I am a timid fool. No self-confidence whatever. Perfect coward. And the chevalier. Delightful old man. General Hubert longed to embrace him also. The chevalier was in bed. For several days he was very unwell. The men of the empire and the post-revolution young ladies were too much for him. He got up the day before the wedding, and being curious by nature, took his niece aside for a quiet talk. He advised her to find out from her husband the true story of the affair of honor, whose claim, so imperative and so persistent, had led her to within an ace of tragedy. It is right that his wife should be told, and next month or so will be your time to learn from him anything you want to know, my dear child. Later on, when the married couple came on a visit to the mother of the bride, Madame la General Hubert related to her beloved old uncle the true story she had obtained without any difficulty from her husband. The chevalier listened with deep attention to the end, took a pinch of snuff, flicked the grains of tobacco from the frilled front of his shirt, and asked calmly, And that's all it was? Yes, uncle, replied Madame la General, opening her pretty eyes very wide, To think what men are capable of! Hmm, commented the old émigré, it depends what sort of men. That Bonaparte's soldiers were savages. It is incense. As a wife, my dear, you must believe implicitly what your husband says. But to Leonie's husband, the chevalier, confided his true opinion. And during the honeymoon, too, you may depend on it that no one will ever know now the secret of this affair. Considerably later still, General Hubert judged the time come and the opportunity propitious to write a letter to General Farad. This letter began, disclaiming all animosity. I've never, wrote the General Baron Hubert, wished for your death during all the time Allow me, he continued, to give you back in all form your forfeited life. It is proper that we two, who have been partners in so much military glory, should be friendly to each other publicly. The same letter contained, also, an item of domestic information. It was in reference to this last that General Farad answered from a little village If one of your boys' names had been Napoleon, or Joseph, or even Joachim, I could congratulate you on the event with a better heart. As you have thought proper to give him the names of Charles Henri Armand, I am confirmed in my conviction that you never loved the Emperor. The thought of that sublime hero is a life of so little value that I would receive with positive joy your instructions to blow my brains out. From suicide I consider myself an honor debarred, but I keep a loaded pistol in my drawer. Madame la General Hubert lifted up her hands in despair after perusing that answer. You see, he won't be reconciled, said her husband. He is proud to guess where the money comes from. It wouldn't do. He couldn't bear it. You're a brave man, Armand, said Madame la General appreciatively. My dear, I had the right to blow his brains out. But as I didn't, we can't let him starve. He has lost his pension, and he is utterly incapable of doing anything in the world for himself. To the end of his days. Don't I owe him the most ecstatic moment of my life? Over the fields, two miles, running all the way. I couldn't believe my ears. But for his stupid ferocity, it would have taken me years to find you out. It's extraordinary how in one way or another this man has managed to fasten himself to my deeper feelings.