"The letters addressed yesterday by our friends to the champions of the legitimacy have been supported to-day by overtures made by several of them to those gentlemen to induce them to take definite action and not to prolong a situation which hitherto has been neither an acceptance nor a formal refusal. It now appears that equivocation is at an end. They do not accept the challenge."
Meantime, various duels took place. On 2 February, preoccupied by the first representation of Lucrèce Borgia, I had only put in but a brief appearance at the National; they did not yet know the result of the meeting there. I found one of my friends there, M. de Beauterne, an impulsive and excitable character. He came to put his name down; but, learning that the list was closed, he decided to act on his own account. We returned together, and he came up to my rooms, asked me for a pen, paper and ink and wrote to Nettement, the editor of La Quotidienne, offering him a meeting. He urged me strongly to do the same; but it was a difficult enough matter for me; Republican though I was, I certainly had more friends amongst the Carlists than among the Republicans. He was so insistent that I had no way of getting out of it. So I took up my pen and wrote—
"MY DEAR BEAUCHENE,—If your party is as silly as mine, and compels you to fight, I ask you, in preference to another, delighted as I shall ever be to give you a proof of my esteem, in default of a proof of friendship.—Yours always,
"ALEX. DUMAS"
Beauterne pushed his complacency to the point of himself undertaking to deliver the letter. Beauchene was in the country, and not expected to return for a week or ten days; but his concierge was deputed to forward him the letter. On 4 February, the meeting offered by Beauterne to Nettement took place, and the latter received a sword cut across the arm. The bulletins which came to us of Carrel's health were satisfactory. No one was allowed to enter his room except the devoted creature who never left him, and M. Dupuytren, who came to see him twice a day. On 5 February, Le Revenant appeared as blank paper: a note of half a line announced that all its contributors had been arrested. On the 9th, they arrested M. Sarrut. The same day I received a letter from Beauchene: he was detained for a few days longer in the country; but, as soon as he returned, he would put himself at my disposal. However, there was no means of fighting, for each of us had a police spy after us, who stuck to us like our shadows. On the 9th, Carrel was well enough for several of his friends to be allowed in his room. I went with two or three others: M. Dupuytren was there: it was the first time I had seen him. He held forth upon the speedy and easy cure of sword cuts, and promised Carrel he should be on his feet again in another week.
A month before, this is what had happened to the famous doctor: a paymaster had played and lost a considerable sum taken from the regimental exchequer; when he returned home he saw no other alternative but the galleys or death. He chose death. Then, with prodigious sang-froid, after writing down his reason for suicide, he drew his sword, leant the hilt against the wall, with the point to his breast, took a step forward and the sword penetrated six inches. He continued to push till the sword had gone in a foot ... still he went on pushing; the hilt of the sword, as they say in barrack-room parlance, had acted as a plaster. In spite of all he still remained upright. Then remorse seized upon him; the desire for life overtook him and he rang for his servant; only, as he felt weak, he seated himself astride a chair whilst he waited for the servant. In this position, the latter found his master when he entered; at first, he did not understand the situation and did not notice the hilt of the sword against his master's breast, and the eighteen inches of steel coming out from between his shoulders.
"Go and fetch M. Dupuytren," said the officer.
The servant began to ask what was the matter.
"Go! go!" the officer repeated. "Sacrebleu! Can't you see there is no time to lose!"
The officer grew deadly pale; there was a pool of blood at his feet.
The servant saw there was, indeed, no time to lose and he rushed off to M. Dupuytren. When M. Dupuytren arrived, the wounded man had slipped down in the chair and was laid in a faint over the side. M. Dupuytren drew out the sword with the greatest precaution, applied a twofold bandage and, seeing a written paper, took possession of it: the cause of the suicide was then explained to him. With the paper he found a banker, and the latter gave the officer the 150 louis he had lost. On the evening of the day upon which M. Dupuytren related this to us, the officer had got up and was able to go to his desk. When he opened the drawer, he found the 150 louis.