or even any regard, to their private quarrels; but then yours is no common case, and I may add, your sensitiveness of no ordinary kind, I will see to the matter. But not to put you among the common men. You can stay in your old quarters, and I will put the colonel into other, and perhaps better ones. Of course I am bound to act justly towards him; and if he behaves himself, he will be out on parole; but I will confine him to the road in the west direction, so that you can keep out of his way.”
Major Kelly was as good as his word. But Tournier had no intention of keeping out of the colonel’s way, whenever he should get out on parole. The old feelings, natural but not Christian, had revived in him with a sudden rush at the sight of the man, and he was completely carried away by them. His only fear was lest, through precipitancy, or the interference of others, he should be hindered from obtaining from Fontenoy the satisfaction he demanded, if that be rightly satisfaction which consists in
killing or wounding another, or in being killed or wounded oneself.
He never left the barracks for many days after this, but relapsed into his old moody ways. Villemet could not make out what was the matter with him.
One day they were walking together in the yard, when Tournier suddenly said, “Villemet, I want you to do something for me. It will, perhaps, be the last favour you will ever show me.”
“Then I would rather not do it.”
“But you must. Who do you think is in the prison at this present moment?—Fontenoy. He came with the others some days ago.”
“Is it possible?” cried Villemet, almost jumping with astonishment.
“And I want you to be my second: for as soon as ever he gets out on parole, I mean to challenge him, and the duel must be à l’ontrance.”
“With the greatest possible pleasure,” said his friend.