M. le Comte de Stainville only shrugged his shoulders when M. deBelle-Isle and young de Lugeac brought him milor's reply.
"Bah!" he said with a sneer, "he'll have to fight me later on or I'llhound him out of France! Never fear, gentlemen, we'll have our meed offun very soon."
On the whole Gaston was not sorry that this stupid so-called "affairof honour" would not force him to rise before dawn. He had no specialill-will against _le petit Anglais_, for whom he had always tried tocultivate a modicum of contempt. He had not always succeeded in thispraiseworthy endeavour, for milor as a rule chose to ignore M. deStainville, as far as, and often more than, courtesy permitted.
The two men had not often met since the memorable evening when milorsnatched the golden prize which Gaston had so clumsily cast aside.Their tastes were very dissimilar, and so was their entourage. Milorwas officially considered to belong to the Queen's set, whilst Gastonclung to the more entertaining company of Madame de Pompadour and herfriends; nor had M. de Stainville had the bad grace to interfere withhis wife's obvious predeliction for Lord Eglinton's company.
The memorable day which was just drawing to its close had seen manychanges--changes that were almost upheavals of old traditions and ofhabitual conditions of court life. Gaston had deceived and thenhideously outraged the woman whom long ago he had already wronged. Ayear ago she had humiliated him, had snatched from him the goldenprize which his ambition had coveted, and which she made himunderstand that he could not obtain without her. To-day had been hishour; he had dragged her down to the very mire in which he himself hadgrovelled, he had laid her pride to dust and shaken the pinnacle ofvirtue and integrity on which she stood.
That she had partly revenged herself by a public affront against Irenemattered little to Gaston. He had long ago ceased to care for _labelle brune de Bordeaux_, the beautiful girl who had enchained hisearly affections and thereby become a bar to his boundless ambition.The social ostracism--applicable only by a certain set of puritanicaldevotes--and the disdain of Queen Marie Leszcynska which his wifemight have to endure would be more than compensated by the gratitudeof Pompadour and of His Majesty himself, for the services rendered byGaston in the cause of the proffered English millions.
But for him the expedition against the Stuart prince could never havebeen undertaken; at any rate, it had been fraught with greatdifficulties; delays and subsequent failure would probably haveresulted. Gaston de Stainville felt sure that in the future he couldtake care that the King should never forget his services.
After his wife's indiscreet outburst he feared once more for thesuccess of the plan. Remembering Lydie's reliance on _Le Monarque_ andher commander, he declared himself prepared to start for Le Havreimmediately. He was quite ready to display that endurance andenthusiasm, in the breakneck ride across the fields of Normandy, whichLydie had thought to find in him for the good of a noble cause.
Gaston de Stainville's pockets were always empty; the two millionswhich the King had promised him would be more than welcome. HisMajesty had even offered to supplement these by an additional halfmillion if _Le Monarque_ sailed out of Le Havre before sunset on themorrow.
The incident of the duel with milor would have delayed mattersand--who knows--perhaps have made that pleasant half million somewhatproblematical. Therefore Gaston received the news of the refusal witha sardonic grin, but not with real impatience.
He felt really no great ill-will toward Lord Eglinton; but for thatincident when he was forcibly made to measure his length on theparquet floor, Gaston would have willingly extended a condescendinghand to the man whose wife he had so infamously wronged.
The incident itself had angered him only to the extent of desiring toinflict a physical punishment on milor. Sure of his own wrist as themost perfect swordsman in France, he had fondled the thought ofslicing off a finger or two, mayhap a thumb, from the hand of _lepetit Anglais_, or better still of gashing milor's face across noseand cheek so as to mar for ever those good looks which the ladies ofVersailles had so openly admired.
Well! all these pleasant little occurrences could happen yet. M. deStainville was quite sure that on his return from Le Havre he couldprovoke the Englishman to fight. Milor might be something of acoward--obviously he was one, else he had accepted so mild achallenge--but he could not always refuse to fight in the face ofcertain provocation, which would mean complete social ruin ifdisregarded.
The hour was late by the time Gaston de Stainville had bade good-nightto Belle-Isle and Lugeac. Together the three men had drunk copiously,had laughed much and sneered continually at the pusillanimousEnglishman.
"This comes of allowing all these aliens to settle amongst us," saidde Lugeac impudently; "soon there will be neither honour nor chivalryleft in France."
Whereupon de Stainville and Belle-Isle, both of whom bore ancient,aristocratic names, bethought themselves that it was time to break upthe little party and to turn their backs on this arrogantgutter-snipe.
The three men separated at midnight. De Lugeac had a room in thepalace, and Stainville and Belle-Isle repaired to their respectivelodgings in the little town itself.
Soon after dawn Gaston de Stainville was on horseback. He startedalone, for that extra half million was dangling before his eyes, andhe was afraid that companionship--even that of a servant--might causeunlooked-for delay. He had a hundred and eighty leagues by road andfield to cover, and soon the day would become very hot. He meant toreach Le Havre before five o'clock in the afternoon; within an hourafter that, he could have handed over his instructions to CaptainBarre, and seen _Le Monarque_ unfurl her sails and glide gracefullyout of the harbour: an argosy anon to be laden with golden freight.
The little town of Versailles had scarce opened its eyes to the newday when the clink of a horse's hoofs on her cobble stones roused herfrom her morning sleep.
A few farmers, bringing in their produce from their gardens, gazedwith keen interest at the beautiful animal and her gallant rider. Thehour was indeed early for such a fine gentleman to be about.
Soon the rough paving of the town was left behind; the sun, who atfirst had hidden his newly-awakened glory behind a bank of clouds, nowburnt his way through these heavy veils, and threw across the morningsky living flames of rose, of orange, and of vivid gold and tipped thetowers and spires of distant Paris with innumerable tongues of fire.
Far away the clock of Notre Dame tolled the hour of five. Gastoncursed inwardly. It was later than he thought, later than he hadintended to make a start. That business of the duel had kept him uplonger than usual and he had felt lazy and tired in the morning. Nowhe would have to make top speed, and he did not feel as alert, nor sowell prepared for the fatigues of a long day's ride, as he would havebeen two years ago, before the enervating dissipations of court lifeat Versailles had undermined the activity of his youth.
Fortunately the ground was soft and dry, the air keen and pure, andGaston spurred his horse to a canter across the fields.