‘But what is the purpose of this rendezvous, Marotte?’ asked Louise, as her friend uttered a hasty exclamation of impatience, and began pacing up and down before the statue.
‘You will learn that in a moment, Louise, if Estelle keep her appointment,’ replied Marotte.
‘Some one comes this way,’ cried Louise. ‘See—they are emerging from the shadow of the fountain.’
‘They are here at last—Dieu merci!’ exclaimed Marotte. And throwing off her cloak, she disclosed to the astonished eyes of her friend a pair of swords—not ‘stage’ swords, but good serviceable rapiers.
‘For the Virgin’s sake, Marotte,’ said Louise, ‘tell me what you are about to do with those weapons.’
‘Only a duel between Estelle and myself. Nay,’ she added, seeing Louise start, ‘it is not the first time I have handled a hilt.’
And after trying the quality of the blades by bending them until they almost formed a circle, she went through a series of passes and stockades that would have done honour to a fencing-master. Louise was almost too bewildered for speech, but with a woman’s instinct she threw her arms round Marotte, imploring her to abandon her purpose.
But by this time it was too late. Estelle had come up, accompanied by a second in the person of Mademoiselle Duparc, an actress in Molière’s company. The rivals bowed courteously to each other, and Estelle’s second with perfect gravity saluted Louise, who was going wildly from one to the other, mingling tears, prayers, threats, ridicule—but all in vain.
‘Is it à l’outrance?’ asked Mademoiselle Duparc.
‘A l’outrance!’ exclaimed Marotte and Estelle in a breath.