“Oh, but it’s very terrible.”
“Can I do anything to serve you?” said the courteous old Frenchman. “If so, command me.”
“Inform his family of this dreadful tragedy.”
“No, I cannot do that. It would not be in conformity with the usual course of events. It is your duty to apprise his friends of the manner of his death—not mine. Permit me as an old soldier to express my most unqualified satisfaction of your conduct throughout the whole of this painful affair, and so good night.”
He offered his hand to Vasseralt, which the latter accepted, and then withdrew from the ground in company with Earl Ethalwood, who, now that it was all over, fairly broke down.
“It is of no use your pulling a long face,” said de Monpres. “You have reason to be thankful, and I congratulate you. Didn’t I tell you how it would end? I knew you would put him to bed with the first shot, and my words were prophetic. Ah, mon ami, he meant mischief. A blood-thirsty scoundrel the world is well rid of! Come, here is the postchaise; let us drive off at once, before the affair gets wind. Jump in.”
The earl obeyed mechanically, for he appeared to be in a perfect state of bewilderment. It was the first time he had slain a fellow-creature, and he upbraided himself for the part he had played in the dark and sanguinary crime. He could not conceal from himself that his adversary had been deeply wronged, that he had during their interview in the forest displayed a nobleness of purpose in regard to Theresa, which could not fail to command the respect of all right-minded persons. He was willing to make any sacrifice for the woman he loved, even to giving her up to his rival, if he could thereby have ensured her happiness. The earl pondered over all these circumstances, and acknowledged to himself that he had committed a great wrong.
“It seems to me, my friend,” said the chevalier, “that you are letting this little affair disturb your equanimity. Why, Lord bless us, it is after all but an everyday occurrence. The fellow is better out of the world than in it. Cheer up—don’t look so cursedly miserable.”
“I don’t feel very well satisfied with myself, I candidly confess,” murmured Ethalwood. “It has been a most unfortunate business.”
“No such thing—not as far as you are concerned. On the contrary, it has, to my thinking, been most fortunate. You’ve got out of a scrape in a most satisfactory and I may say gallant manner. We’ll just have a bottle of sparkling hock and a choice cigar, and that will put you all right again.”