If we have dwelt thus long upon the secret thoughts of the company, it is because their conversation was too broken and unconnected for recording. They talked little, and that little was discursive. An occasional allusion to some social topic, a chance mention of their approaching departure from Florence, some reference to Como and its scenery, formed the whole; and then, in spite of Jekyl, whose functions of “fly-wheel” could not keep the machine a-moving, long pauses would intervene, and each lapse into a silence apparently more congenial than conversation. All this while Jekyl seemed to be reading the complex scheme of doubt, irresolution, and determination that filled Midchekoff's mind. The stealthy glances of the Russian's eyes towards Kate, the almost painful anxiety of his manner, to see if she noticed him while speaking, his watchful observance of her in her every accent and gesture, told Jekyl the struggle that was then passing within him. He had seen each of these symptoms before, though in a less degree, when the coveted object was a horse or a picture; and he well knew how nothing but the dread of a competition for the prize would rouse him from this state of doubt and uncertainty.
The evening dragged slowly over, and it was now late, when Lord Norwood made his appearance. With a brief apology for not coming to dinner, he drew Jekyl to one side, and, slipping an arm within his, led him into an adjoining room.
“I say, Jekyl,” whispered he, as they retired out of earshot of the others, “here's a pretty mess Onslow's got in. There has been a fracas in the street about Miss Dalton. How she came there at such a time, and alone, is another matter; and George has struck Guilmard, knocked him down, by Jove! and no mistake; and they're to meet tomorrow morning. Of course, there was nothing else for it; a blow has but one reparation, George will have to stand the fire of the first shot in Europe.”
Jekyl hated a duel. Had he been a member of the Peace Congress, he could not have detested the arbitrament of arms more heartily. 'It involved partisanship, it severed intimacies, it barred general intercourse, and often closed up for a whole season the pleasantest houses of a town. The announcement of a strict blockade never struck a mercantile community with more terror. To Norwood the prospect was directly the opposite. Not only an adept in all the etiquette and ceremonial of such meetings, he liked to see his name circulated in these affairs as a kind of guarantee of his readiness to seek a similar reparation for injury. He had trusted for many a year on his dexterity at twelve paces, and he never missed an opportunity of sustaining the prestige of a “dead shot.”
It was, then, with an ardor of amateurship that he narrated the various little preliminary steps which had already been taken. Merkheim, the Austrian secretary, had called on him, on the part of Guilmard; and as, in a case so clear, there was little to arrange, the only difficulty lay in the choice of weapons.
“The Frenchman claims the sword,” said Norwood; “and it is always awkward to decline that proposition for a soldier. But I suppose George has about as much chance with one weapon as the other.”
“You think he 'll kill him, my Lord?”
“I think so. If the offence had been less flagrant or less public, possibly not. But a blow! to be struck down in the open street! I don't see how he can do less.”
“What a break-up it will cause here!” said Jekyl, with a nod of his head in the direction of the drawing-room.
“It will send them all back to England, I suppose.”