The Secret of Toni

by Molly Elliot Seawell

Presently Lucie was sent away to practise on the piano, for it was a part of Sophie’s plan that, when Lucie returned to her grandmother after these brief and forced visits, the child should show some improvement.

Then Ravenel told Sophie that as soon as he finished breakfast, he was to go to Colonel Duquesne’s house, and have the meeting with Creci, and he repeated the colonel’s chivalrous words to her. Sophie’s pale face flamed up. It was something in the arid waste of life to have known two such men as the one before her and Colonel Duquesne, who would not strike a woman when she was helpless before him, and who pitied the weaknesses of the human heart.

“But when it comes to apologizing,” said Ravenel, grinding his teeth, “what am I to say?—to say that I am sorry for having kicked him, when I wished to kill him?”

“Dearest,” replied Sophie, “do what the colonel advises. He would not counsel you to do anything against your honor.”

At twelve o’clock precisely, Ravenel presented himself at the colonel’s house. He was in his uniform, for, although retired, he was still an officer. The soldiers saluted him respectfully, and the aides spoke to him politely. Everybody felt sorry for Ravenel, and most honest and brave men in his place would have done as he had. He was ushered into the colonel’s room, and there sat Colonel Duquesne and Creci, with his two friends, the officers who had dragged Ravenel and himself apart in the park. The colonel and others present bowed gravely to Ravenel, who returned the bow and seated himself at the colonel’s invitation, and then after a little silence the colonel stated the case briefly, but said at the end, with emphasis:

“I think in every case of this sort, without impugning Lieutenant Creci’s word, the presumption is that a mistake has been made. Whatever Lieutenant Creci thought about the lady in question, whose name must, by no means, be mentioned, I feel sure that she was unconscious of any attempt to attract his attention. We will proceed upon that supposition, if you please.”

Creci’s handsome, stupid face grew scarlet, Ravenel’s dark skin turned a shade darker, the other two officers looked impassive. Then the colonel went on to say that he would recommend Captain Ravenel to make an apology to Lieutenant Creci, and he would strongly urge Lieutenant Creci to accept it. At that there was a long silence. Ravenel really knew not how to apologize for having done what his honor and his conscience and his inclination had told him was right to do. He blamed himself for not having stamped his foot in Creci’s face, and so marked him for life. The pause became awkward while Ravenel was turning these things over in his mind. At last, with the colonel’s eye fixed upon him commandingly, he mumbled something about regretting that the occasion had arisen—the rest of it was lost in his mustache, for the colonel, as soon as he heard the word regret, turned promptly to Creci. There was a menace in Colonel Duquesne’s eye—a look which commanded obedience. Creci, inwardly raging, sullenly bowed, and Captain Merrilat said quickly:

“I think Lieutenant Creci accepts the apology, and we may consider the affair as ended.”

Everybody present knew what Colonel Duquesne meant. He had known Sophie when she was fresh from her convent school, had known her as the young wife of an unfeeling and vicious man—he had known her at the moment when her courage failed her, and she had left the hard and stony path she had been traveling with Delorme to go on a path still hard and stony with Ravenel. Colonel Duquesne was tender-hearted where women were concerned, and felt in his soul that he could not have stood Delorme as long as Sophie had stood him. All these things were working in his mind when Ravenel and Creci and the two officers were rising and making their formal adieus.