"Sapristi! it is impossible! That any one should love a man more than honour and glory and a career—cent mille diables!—it is impossible!"
"It is true—she is a woman, what would you have? it is better to recognise the fact, father; it is not her fault. I too found that I was a woman, and you forgave me."
"That was different. You were always a fool, Marie; but here was one after my own heart, a woman, by misfortune of birth, but able to put the best of men to shame. And a fine career well begun! We will argue with her, Marie, she shall be wise. Stay—yes, that is better—I will pick a quarrel with this fool, and call him out. Sapristi! my old arm is still strong enough to slice the rogue; let him but show his face here once again—he shall be taught that——"
"It is useless, my father; Louise will have her own way; she is man enough for that! What matters is that we have deceived the Baron and that she will know it."
"Mon Dieu, let her know it—what then? Am I ashamed that I would defend her from that which strikes at her true advantage? God forbid. Let him know also or not know, what care I?"
"They have met and it is certain that she knows we have hidden the truth from him."
"Good! let him know it also. If he is an honourable man he will not sit still under so vile a deception. Sapristi, I have lied to him; let him call me out!" Old Dupré laughed aloud, delighted with his own astuteness. His eyes were aflame with the light of battle. "Thanks be to Heaven!" he said, "I shall fight one more duel before I die!"
From this bellicose attitude Marie found herself quite unable to move her father. On the contrary, he seemed so delighted with the situation in which he now found himself that he would speak to her of little else than this, and Marie found that she had, after all, rendered her sister no more signal a service than to place within the category of possible things that which assuredly neither of them would until this day have contemplated as in any degree likely, a duel between old Dupré and the lover of his daughter. Moreover, to the astonishment of his assistants, old Pierre forthwith arrayed himself for the arena and practised his fencing with each in turn until his limbs were so stiff with the unwonted exercise that he could hold his foil no longer.
"Mais, Monsieur!" exclaimed Havet, perspiring with the exertion to which the old man's unexpected activity had condemned him, "you are as skilful and as nimble as a youth of thirty."
"Aha! you find me so? Sapristi, that is well, mon ami. After a few days you will find me invincible, and that is well also, for, entre nous, there is hope that I shall be called out. Imaginez, mon enfant! another fight before I die! Truly, Heaven is kind to me!"