But they had to wait. It was some time
before Fontenoy was out on parole. The major was in no hurry about it, out of consideration probably for Tournier.
At last, one day, Villemet, who kept up a sharp enquiry, announced the good news that the colonel was to be out next day. Both of them accordingly were on the watch for him in the road; and, sure enough, saw him coming along towards them, snuffing the air with great delight, and looking about him with evident satisfaction. The satisfaction, however, was not of long duration.
As the colonel’s eye caught the first glimpse of two gentlemen approaching him, he seemed to smell, as it were, something wrong, for
“Conscience does make cowards of us all”;
and when he came near enough to distinguish features as well as figure, he turned pale, and his effrontery for the moment left him. But it soon came back, and he met Tournier’s cruelly stern gaze with a look of careless defiance. Tournier stopped in front of him.
“Colonel Fontenoy,” he said, with the coldness of the grave: “my friend here has something to say to you on my behalf.”
The colonel began to speak; but Tournier at once silenced him.
“I have nothing to say to you, sir,” and passed on.
Then Villemet proceeded to execute his commission with all frigid politeness and particularity. It is not worth while to relate what such a man as Fontenoy said on the occasion. But the challenge was accepted. The seconds were to arrange all the rest.