“That is all right,” said De Wardes, and gathering up the reins, he struck his spurs into the horse’s sides. The horse cleared the comte’s motionless body, and bore De Wardes rapidly back to the chateau. When he arrived there, he remained a quarter of an hour deliberating within himself as to the proper course to be adopted. In his impatience to leave the field of battle, he had omitted to ascertain whether De Guiche were dead or not. A double hypothesis presented itself to De Wardes’s agitated mind; either De Guiche was killed, or De Guiche was wounded only. If he were killed, why should he leave his body in that manner to the tender mercies of the wolves; it was a perfectly useless piece of cruelty, for if De Guiche were dead, he certainly could not breathe a syllable of what had passed; if he were not killed, why should he, De Wardes, in leaving him there uncared for, allow himself to be regarded as a savage, incapable of one generous feeling? This last consideration determined his line of conduct.
De Wardes immediately instituted inquires after Manicamp. He was told that Manicamp had been looking after De Guiche, and, not knowing where to find him, had retired to bed. De Wardes went and awoke the sleeper, without any delay, and related the whole affair to him, which Manicamp listened to in perfect silence, but with an expression of momentarily increasing energy, of which his face could hardly have been supposed capable. It was only when De Wardes had finished, that Manicamp uttered the words, “Let us go.”
As they proceeded, Manicamp became more and more excited, and in proportion as De Wardes related the details of the affair to him, his countenance assumed every moment a darker expression. “And so,” he said, when De Wardes had finished, “you think he is dead?”
“Alas, I do.”
“And you fought in that manner, without witnesses?”
“He insisted upon it.”
“It is very singular.”
“What do you mean by saying it is singular?”
“That it is very unlike Monsieur de Guiche’s disposition.”
“You do not doubt my word, I suppose?”
“Hum! hum!”
“You do doubt it, then?”
“A little. But I shall doubt it more than ever, I warn you, if I find the poor fellow is really dead.”
“Monsieur Manicamp!”
“Monsieur de Wardes!”
“It seems you intend to insult me.”
“Just as you please. The fact is, I never did like people who come and say, ‘I have killed such and such a gentleman in a corner; it is a great pity, but I killed him in a perfectly honorable manner.’ It has an ugly appearance, M. de Wardes.”
“Silence! we have arrived.”
In fact, the glade could now be seen, and in the open space lay the motionless body of the dead horse. To the right of the horse, upon the dark grass, with his face against the ground, the poor comte lay, bathed in his blood. He had remained in the same spot, and did not even seem to have made the slightest movement. Manicamp threw himself on his knees, lifted the comte in his arms, and found him quite cold, and steeped in blood. He let him gently fall again. Then, stretching out his hand and feeling all over the ground close to where the comte lay, he sought until he found De Guiche’s pistol.
“By Heaven!” he said, rising to his feet, pale as death and with the pistol in his hand, “you are not mistaken, he is quite dead.”
“Dead!” repeated De Wardes.
“Yes; and his pistol is still loaded,” added Manicamp, looking into the pan.
“But I told you that I took aim as he was walking towards me, and fired at him at the very moment he was going to fire at me.”
“Are you quite sure that you fought with him, Monsieur de Wardes? I confess that I am very much afraid it has been a foul assassination. Nay, nay, no exclamations! You have had your three shots, and his pistol is still loaded. You have killed his horse, and he, De Guiche, one of the best marksmen in France, has not touched even either your horse or yourself. Well, Monsieur de Wardes, you have been very unlucky in bringing me here; all the blood in my body seems to have mounted to my head; and I verily believe that since so good an opportunity presents itself, I shall blow your brains out on the spot. So, Monsieur de Wardes, recommend yourself to Heaven.”
“Monsieur Manicamp, you cannot think of such a thing!”
“On the contrary, I am thinking of it very strongly.”
“Would you assassinate me?”
“Without the slightest remorse, at least for the present.”
“Are you a gentleman?”
“I have given a great many proofs of that.”
“Let me defend my life, then, at least.”
“Very likely; in order, I suppose, that you may do to me what you have done to poor De Guiche.”
And Manicamp slowly raised his pistol to the height of De Wardes’s breast, and with arm stretched out, and a fixed, determined look on his face, took a careful aim.
De Wardes did not attempt a flight; he was completely terrified. In the midst, however, of this horrible silence, which lasted about a second, but which seemed an age to De Wardes, a faint sigh was heard.
“Oh,” exclaimed De Wardes, “he still lives! Help, De Guiche, I am about to be assassinated!”
Manicamp fell back a step or two, and the two young men saw the comte raise himself slowly and painfully upon one hand. Manicamp threw the pistol away a dozen paces, and ran to his friend, uttering a cry of delight. De Wardes wiped his forehead, which was covered with a cold perspiration.
“It was just in time,” he murmured.
“Where are you hurt?” inquired Manicamp of De Guiche, “and whereabouts are you wounded?”
De Guiche showed him his mutilated hand and his chest covered with blood.
“Comte,” exclaimed De Wardes, “I am accused of having assassinated you; speak, I implore you, and say that I fought loyally.”
“Perfectly so,” said the wounded man; “Monsieur de Wardes fought quite loyally, and whoever says the contrary will make an enemy of me.”
“Then, sir,” said Manicamp, “assist me, in the first place, to carry this gentleman home, and I will afterwards give you every satisfaction you please; or, if you are in a hurry, we can do better still; let us stanch the blood from the comte’s wounds here, with your pocket-handkerchief and mine, and then, as there are two shots left, we can have them between us.”
“Thank you,” said De Wardes. “Twice already, in one hour, I have seen death too close at hand to be agreeable; I don’t like his look at all, and I prefer your apologies.”
Manicamp burst out laughing, and Guiche, too, in spite of his sufferings. The two young men wished to carry him, but he declared he felt quite strong enough to walk alone. The ball had broken his ring-finger and his little finger, and then had glanced along his side, but without penetrating deeply into his chest. It was the pain rather than the seriousness of the wound, therefore, which had overcome De Guiche. Manicamp passed his arm under one of the count’s shoulders, and De Wardes did the same with the other, and in this way they brought him back to Fontainebleau, to the house of the same doctor who had been present at the death of the Franciscan, Aramis’s predecessor.
Chapter XIV. The King’s Supper
The king, while these matters were being arranged, was sitting at the supper-table, and the not very large number of guests for that day had taken their seats too, after the usual gesture intimating the royal permission. At this period of Louis XIV.‘s reign, although etiquette was not governed by the strict regulations subsequently