The Tiger Lily Part 35

"And leave you--sick?"

"Yes; even if I were dying. G.o.d bless you, dear! Think of me as I used to be."

"Armstrong!" she cried, with her hands extended toward him. But he waved her off.

"No, no. I am a scoundrel, but not black enough for that. Go back to your brother."

"Go?"

"Yes; I insist. You cannot forgive me now."

She could bear no more. Her chin sank upon her breast, and with one low, heart-wrung sigh, she went quickly from the room.

"Thank Heaven! that's over," muttered Armstrong. "Now for the end, and the quicker the better. Life is not worth living, after all."

He looked sharply round to where Keren-Happuch stood, wiping her eyes upon her ap.r.o.n.

"Here, girl!" he cried.

"Yes, Mr. Dale, sir."

"Go at once to Mr. Leronde's rooms--you know--in Poland Street, and ask him to come on here at once."

"But are you fit to leave, sir?"

"Yes, yes. Go quickly."

The girl hurried off on her mission, leaving the artist thinking.

"He would challenge me if I did not challenge him. I suppose it ought to come from me after the blow, for me to prove that I am not `un lache,' as our French friends term it. A duel! What a mockery! Well, better so. Let him shoot me, and have done with it. There is not room here for us both. Poor Cornel! It will be like making some expiation.

It will leave her free. She can deal more tenderly with my memory as dead than she could with me living still. I should be a blight upon her pure young life. Ah! if we had never met."

He lay back feverish and excited, for the blow had had terrible effect, and there were minutes when he was half-delirious, and had hard work to control his thoughts.

For he was wandering away now with Cornel, who had forgiven him because Valentina was dead. Then it was Cornel who was dead, and he was with the Contessa far away in some glorious land of flowers, fruit, and sunshine; but the fruit was bitter, the flowers gave forth the scent of poison, and the sun beat down heavily upon his head, scorching his throbbing brain.

He woke up from a dream crowded with strange fancies, and uttered an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of satisfaction, for his brain was clear again, and the young Frenchman was standing before him, waiting to know why he had been fetched.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

THE SECOND SECOND.

"Ah, oui, of course," said Leronde, exhaling a little puff of smoke.

"It is so, of course. I know. If there had been no knog viz ze stique, ze huzziband would shallenge you. But viz ze knog viz ze stique--so big a knog, I sink you shallenge him, and satisfy l'honneur. I go at once and ask him to name his friends."

"Yes, I suppose that will be right," said Armstrong, after a few moments' thought.

"But I am not sure that you can fight so soon."

"Why?"

"You 'ave ze bad head."

"Bah! a mere nothing. I am ready; but of course, as you say, it cannot be here. Listen! Is not that some one on the stairs?"

They were not left in doubt, for Keren-Happuch came in, round-eyed and wondering, with a couple of cards held in her ap.r.o.n-guarded thumb and finger.

"Please, Mr. Dale, sir, here's two doctors come to see you."

"Ma foi! two," cried Leronde. "One is bad, too much. Send zem away, my friend."

"Bah! Show them up," said the artist; and Keren-Happuch hurried out.

"Look," continued Armstrong; "Italians--his friends, I suppose."

"Aha! that is good," cried Leronde, holding out the cards. "He shallenge then. I am glad, for I was get in head muddled after all vezzer you ought to shallenge. Now we are quite square."

A minute later two important-looking men were ushered in, to whom Leronde at once advanced with a dignified mien, receiving them and listening to the declaration of their mission, and after a few exchanges of compliments on one side of the studio, away from where Armstrong sat scowling, they left with the understanding that Leronde was to wait upon them shortly to arrange all preliminaries.

"I am still not quite satisfy," said Leronde thoughtfully. "I ought to have been first, and take your shallenge to him."

"But what does it matter if we are to meet?"

"But you vas ze insulte."

"Indeed!" said Armstrong, with a bitter smile. "Opinions are various, boy. But let that rest. Help me to lie down on that couch, and give me a cigar."

Leronde obeyed, watching his friend anxiously.

"You vill not be vell enough to fight."

"I will be well enough to fight, man," cried Armstrong savagely.

"There: wait a bit. It is too soon to follow them yet;" and for a while they sat and smoked, till Leronde burst out with--

"I am so glad you go to fight, my dear Dale."

"Are you?" said Armstrong gruffly.

"Yes; it do me good that you are ready to fight M'sieu le Conte like a gentleman. I thought all Englishmans degrade themself viz le boxe.

Bah! it is not good. You have ze muscle great, but so have ze dustman and ze navigator; let them fight--so."

"But look here, Leronde; this must be kept a secret from every one."

"Oh, certainement, name of a visky and sodaire. I tell n.o.bdis. You think I go blab and tell of ze meeting? Valkaire! Mums!"

"Have you ever seen one of these affairs at home?"

"Oh no, my friend, not chez-moi--at home. It was in the Bois de Boulogne."

"And you saw one there?"