‘You have guessed aright, Fitzgerald. Thirty-eight years and seven months ago I entered this service, knowing less of the world than you do now. So little aware was I what was meant by a provocation, that I attributed to my own deficiency in the language and my ignorance of life what were intended as direct insults. They read me differently, and went so far as to deliberate whether I ought not to be called on to leave the corps. This at last aroused my indolence. I fought four of them one morning, and three the next—two fell fatally wounded. I never got but this—and he showed a deep scar on the wrist of his sword-arm. ‘From that time I have had no trouble.’
‘And this is an ordeal I must pass also, said Gerald calmly.
‘I scarcely know how it is to be avoided, nor yet complied with. The king has declared so positively against duelling, that he who sends a challenge must consent to forgo his career in the service.’
‘But, surely, not he who only accepts a provocation?’
‘That is a difficulty none seems to have answered. Many think that all will be treated alike—the challenger and the challenged, and even the seconds. My own opinion is different.’
‘It is not impossible, then, that M. de Maurepas desired to push me to demand satisfaction,’ said Gerald slowly, for the light was beginning to break upon his mind.
Dillon nodded in silence.
‘And you saw this, Count?’
Another nod was the reply.
‘And, doubtless, the rest also?’