"Eloise," I said, taking her hands in mine, "come to yourself. The second act is about to begin. Do not let other people see you pale like this. What matters it? He and I have an account to settle: what matters it? You have Franzius to think of. Listen to me. Do you know who he is? He is Baron Carl von Lichtenberg—he was little Carl. Do you remember the gardens of Lichtenberg and the drum, and how we marched away into the forest——"
And before Eloise could answer, the Vicomte returned, and the curtain rose on the forest of the lovely land where Undine met her lover.
The opera was a great success. Not since the marvellous first night of "The Barber of Seville" had Paris shown such enthusiasm. But the pleasure was dimmed for me, and I saw everything at a distance.
During the interval between the second and third acts, I sent a message to De Brissac and another friend who were in the house, to meet me at the Place Vendôme that night; and towards one in the morning we met in my apartments, and I gave them their commission.
Then I went to bed and to sleep, with the music of "Undine" ringing in my ears, and in my heart the knowledge of Franzius' triumph, and the knowledge that I had helped him to it.
At eleven o'clock next morning De Brissac was announced.
Von Lichtenberg had accepted my challenge, with an extraordinary proviso: the duel was not to take place till that day three months.
"He will fight you to-day if you press the point," said De Brissac, "but he asked me to lay before you the fact that he will require three months in which to arrange his affairs, which are partly political. He added," continued De Brissac grimly, "that, as you have evaded him for three months and more, you cannot in courtesy refuse him this favour."
"I accept. So he added that—another insult!"
"He is a strange person," said De Brissac, "though in all outward respects a perfect nobleman. He is a strange person, and I do not care for him. In my eyes this is a forced business—une mauvaise querelle."