CHAPTER IX.
The hemorrhage had at last been arrested, the doctor sent for, and the sick man put to bed. Oswald was sitting beside him, awaiting the arrival of the physician. From time to time he whispered a comforting word to the invalid or gave him a bit of ice. Some one gently lifted the latch of the door. "Ossi!" Georges called softly.
"Well?"
"Capriani has sent this note to you."
"To me? Let me have it."
Oswald took the note and retired to the bedside again. Shortly afterward he appeared in the adjoining room where Georges was, his eyes filled with gloom, his face ghastly pale.
"What does the dog say?"
"He asks where his second can find me, as I might not like to receive him beneath my mother's roof. He is right--!"
"Second?" Georges interrupted him. "Have you quarrelled?"
"Yes, he was insolent to me and to Fritz, and so I called him a scoundrel and turned him out of the room."
"And you are going to accept his challenge?"
"Yes!"
"You, you mean to fight with Conte Capriani--with a wretched swindler, with no claim to the satisfaction of a gentleman? Are you insane? Do you not see how such a duel must degrade you?--Show me his letter that I may know what to do, and then let me go to him. I assure you that the matter can be settled in a quarter of an hour; it is nothing but empty brag on his part."
"I tell you that I insist upon this duel," exclaimed Oswald, beside himself.
"Upon a duel with an adventurer who, with his money, comes from no one knows where? It is impossible, downright impossible! Show me his letter."
Oswald changed colour, felt in his pocket--"I have not got it,--I threw it away--" he stammered disconnectedly, "moreover, the letter has nothing to do with the matter. Go to him,--it is against all rule,--but I will not have his seconds cross my threshold. One second is enough for me, I will not have another dragged into this disgusting affair. Arrange everything with Kilary, and as soon as possible--pistols!"
"Pistols?--at thirty-five paces?"
"Fifteen if he chooses,--or for all I care across a handkerchief!"
Georges went close up to his cousin, and looked into his eyes as if to read his very soul; then he drew a long breath and said, "You are not alone in the world, Ossi,--you have a mother and a betrothed who idolize you! and yet you would hazard your life for the sake of a single angry outburst, for a mere whim; you would accept the challenge of a man who, spurred on by envy and wounded vanity, is capable of anything, and to die by whose hand could only disgrace you? And all because--because you are possessed for the moment by some fixed delusion which makes life intolerable to you!" Oswald winced. Georges went on, "The only one who could gain anything by your death is myself,--and God knows I would give my life at any moment to save yours! I do not grudge you the position that you occupy."
"What do you mean? What stuff are you talking," Oswald interrupted him imperiously; his face was still ashy pale, and his voice sounded harsh--"'You do not grudge me the position that I occupy!'--Perhaps you think you have a right to it?"
"But, Ossi!--How can you--? you are beside yourself--you are insane!" ejaculated Georges, utterly confounded.
"Yes, yes,--I have known it for some time, Georges, I am losing my reason!" Oswald murmured in broken, weary tones. He groped for support, sank into a chair, and covering his face with his hands, sobbed like a child.
There was a long pause. At last Oswald raised his head. "Now, go!" he said in a sharp tone of command, such as he had never before used to his cousin. "Go to him--pistols--and soon. If you will not go, I will send Pistasch,--judge for yourself whether that would improve matters!"
And Georges shrugged his shoulders and went.