Pepita Ximenez Part 17

The count, whose whole cash capital was in the bank, began to be alarmed at the risk he ran; but there was nothing for it but to accept.

It is a common saying that those who are fortunate in love are unfortunate at play but the reverse of this is often more nearly the truth. He who is fortunate in one thing is apt to be fortunate in everything; it is the same when one is unfortunate.

The count continued to draw cards, but no _three_ turned up. His emotion, notwithstanding his efforts to conceal it, was great. Finally, he came to a card which he knew by the lines at the top to be the king of hearts, and paused.

"Draw," said the captain.

"It is no use! The king of hearts! Curses on it! The little priest has plucked me. Take up your money."

The count threw the cards angrily on the table.

Don Luis took up the money calmly, and with apparent indifference.

After a short silence the count said:

"My little priest, you must give me my revenge."

"I see no such necessity."

"It seems to me that between gentlemen--"

"According to that rule the game would have no end," said Don Luis, "and it would be better to save one's self the trouble of playing altogether."

"Give me my revenge," replied the count, without paying any attention to this argument.

"Be it so," returned Don Luis; "I wish to be generous."

The count took up the cards again, and proceeded to deal.

"Stop a moment," said Don Luis; "let us understand each other. Where is the money for your new bank?"

The count showed signs of confusion and disturbance.

"I have no money here," he returned, "but it seems to me that my word is more than enough."

Don Luis answered, with grave and measured accent:

"Count, I should be quite willing to trust the word of a gentleman, and allow him to remain in my debt, if it were not that in doing so I should fear to lose your friendship, which I am now in a fair way to gain; but, as I was a witness this morning to the cruelty with which you treated certain friends of mine, to whom you are indebted, I do not wish to run the risk of becoming culpable in your eyes by means of the same fault.

How ridiculous to suppose that I should voluntarily incur your enmity by lending you money which you would not repay me, as you have not repaid, except with insults, that which you owe Pepita Ximenez!"

From the fact that this accusation was true, the offense was all the greater. The count became livid with anger, and, by this time on his feet, ready to come to blows with the collegian.

"You lie, slanderer!" he exclaimed. "I shall tear you limb from limb, you----"

This last insult, which concerned the honor of her whose memory was most sacred to him, was never finished; its end never reached his ears. For, with marvelous quickness, dexterity, and force, he reached across the table which was between himself and the count, and, with the light, flexible bamboo cane with which he had armed himself, struck his antagonist on the face, raising on it instantly a dark purple welt.

There was neither retort, outcry, nor uproar after this. When the hands come into play, the tongue is apt to be silent. The count was about to throw himself on Don Luis, for the purpose of tearing him to pieces, if it were in his power. But opinion had changed greatly since yesterday morning, and was now on the side of Don Luis. The captain, the doctor, and even Currito, who now showed more courage than he had done on that occasion, all held back the count, who struggled and fought ferociously to release himself.

"Let me go!" he cried; "let me get at him and kill him!"

"I do not seek to prevent a duel," said the captain; "a duel is inevitable. I only seek to prevent your fighting here, like two porters.

I should be wanting in self-respect if I consented to be present at such a combat."

"Let weapons be brought!" said the count; "I do not wish to defer the affair for a single moment. At once--and here!"

"Will you fight with sabers?" said the captain.

"Yes," responded Don Luis.

"Sabers be it," said the count.

All this was said in a low voice, so that nothing might be heard in the street. Even the servants of the club-house, who slept on chairs in the kitchen and in the yard, were not awakened by the noise.

Don Luis chose as his seconds the captain and Currito; the count chose the two strangers. The doctor made ready to practice his art, and show the signal of the Red Cross.

It was not yet daylight. It was agreed that the apartment in which they were, should be the field of combat, the door being first closed. The captain went to his house for the sabers, and returned soon afterward, carrying them under the cloak which he had put on for the purpose of concealing them from view.

We already know that Don Luis had never wielded a weapon in his life.

Fortunately the count, although he had never studied theology, or entertained the purpose of becoming a priest, was not much more skilled than he in the art of handling the broadsword.

The only roles laid down for the duel were that, their sabers once in hand, each of the combatants should use his weapon as Heaven might best direct him.

The door of the apartment was closed. The tables and chairs were placed in a corner, to leave a free field for the combatants, and the lights were suitably disposed.

Don Luis and the count divested themselves of their coats and waistcoats, remaining in their shirt-sleeves, and selected, each one, his weapon. The seconds stood on one side. At a signal from the captain, the combat began. Between two persons who know neither how to parry a stroke nor how to put themselves on guard, a combat must of necessity be brief; and such this one was.

The fury of the count, restrained for some time past, now burst forth and blinded his reason. He was strong, and he had wrists of steel; and he showered down on Don Luis, with his saber, a rain of blows without order or sequence. Four times he succeeded in touching Don Luis--each time, fortunately, with the flat of his weapon. He bruised his shoulders, but did not wound him. The young theologian had need of all his strength to keep from falling to the floor, overcome by the force of the blows and the pain of his bruises. A fifth time the count struck Don Luis, and this time with the edge of his weapon, although sidewise.

The blood of Don Luis began to flow abundantly. Far from stopping, the count resumed the attack with renewed fury, in the hope of again wounding his antagonist. He almost placed himself under the weapon of Don Luis. The latter, instead of putting himself in position to parry, brought his sword down vigorously on his adversary, and succeeded in wounding the count in the head. The blood gushed forth, and ran down his forehead and into his eyes. Stunned by the blow, the count fell heavily to the floor.

The whole combat was a matter of a few seconds. Don Luis had remained tranquil throughout, like a Stoic philosopher, who is obliged by the hard law of necessity to take part in a conflict opposed alike to his habits and his ways of thought. But no sooner did he see his antagonist extended on the floor, bathed in blood and looking as though he were dead, than he experienced the most poignant anguish, and feared for a moment that he should faint. He who, until within the last five or six hours, had held unwaveringly to his resolution of being a priest, a missionary, a minister and a messenger of the gospel, had committed, or accused himself of having committed, during those few hours, every crime, and of breaking all the commandments of G.o.d. There was now no mortal sin by which he was not contaminated. First, his purpose of leading a life of perfect and heroic holiness had been put to flight; then followed his purpose of leading a life of holiness of a more easy, comfortable, and _bourgeois_ sort. The devil seemed to please himself in over-throwing his plans. He reflected that he could now no longer be even a Christian Philemon, for to lay his neighbor's head open with a stroke of a saber was not a very good beginning of his idyl.

Don Luis, after the agitations of the day, was now in a condition resembling that of a man who has brain-fever. Currito and the captain, one at each side, took hold of him and led him home.

Don Pedro de Vargas got out of bed in terror when he was told that his son had come home wounded. He ran to see him, examined his bruises and the wound in his arm, and saw that they were none of them attended with danger; but he broke out into threats of vengeance, and would not be pacified until he was made acquainted with the particulars of the affair, and learned that Don Luis had known how to avenge himself in spite of his theology.

The doctor came soon after to examine the wound, and was of opinion that in three or four days' time Don Luis would be able to go out again, as if nothing had happened. With the count, on the other hand, it would be a matter of months. His life, however, was in no danger. He had returned to consciousness, and had asked to be taken to his own village, which was distant only a league from the village which these events took place. A hired coach had been procured, and he had been taken thither, accompanied by his servant, and the two strangers who had acted as his seconds.

Four days after the affair the doctor's opinion was justified by the result, and Don Luis, although sore from his bruises, and with his wound still open, was in a condition to go out, and promised a complete recovery within a short time.

The first duty which Don Luis thought himself obliged to fulfill, as soon as he was off the sick-list, was to confess to his father his love for Pepita, and his intention of marrying her.

Don Pedro had not gone to the country, nor had he occupied himself in any other way than in taking care of his son during the sickness of the latter. He was constantly at his side, waiting on him and petting him with tender affection.

On the morning of the 27th of June, after the doctor had gone, Don Pedro being alone with his son, the confession, so difficult for Don Luis to make, took place in the following manner:

"Father," said Don Luis, "I ought not to deceive you any longer. To-day I am going to confess my faults to you, and cast away hypocrisy."