"In fact," the young man burst out excitedly, "it is your name that he mentions.And in order to fix the exact personality he always takes care to add that you are that young fellow who was known as Monsieur George all over the South amongst the initiated Carlists."How Blunt had got enough information to base that atrocious calumny upon, Monsieur George couldn't imagine.But there it was.He kept silent in his indignation till his friend murmured, "I expect you will want him to know that you are here.""Yes," said Monsieur George, "and I hope you will consent to act for me altogether.First of all, pray, let him know by wire that Iam waiting for him.This will be enough to fetch him down here, Ican assure you.You may ask him also to bring two friends with him.I don't intend this to be an affair for Parisian journalists to write paragraphs about.""Yes.That sort of thing must be stopped at once," the other admitted.He assented to Monsieur George's request that the meeting should be arranged for at his elder brother's country place where the family stayed very seldom.There was a most convenient walled garden there.And then Monsieur George caught his train promising to be back on the fourth day and leaving all further arrangements to his friend.He prided himself on his impenetrability before Dona Rita; on the happiness without a shadow of those four days.However, Dona Rita must have had the intuition of there being something in the wind, because on the evening of the very same day on which he left her again on some pretence or other, she was already ensconced in the house in the street of the Consuls, with the trustworthy Rose scouting all over the town to gain information.
Of the proceedings in the walled garden there is no need to speak in detail.They were conventionally correct, but an earnestness of purpose which could be felt in the very air lifted the business above the common run of affairs of honour.One bit of byplay unnoticed by the seconds, very busy for the moment with their arrangements, must be mentioned.Disregarding the severe rules of conduct in such cases Monsieur George approached his adversary and addressed him directly.
"Captain Blunt," he said, "the result of this meeting may go against me.In that case you will recognize publicly that you were wrong.For you are wrong and you know it.May I trust your honour?"In answer to that appeal Captain Blunt, always correct, didn't open his lips but only made a little bow.For the rest he was perfectly ruthless.If he was utterly incapable of being carried away by love there was nothing equivocal about his jealousy.Such psychology is not very rare and really from the point of view of the combat itself one cannot very well blame him.What happened was this.Monsieur George fired on the word and, whether luck or skill, managed to hit Captain Blunt in the upper part of the arm which was holding the pistol.That gentleman's arm dropped powerless by his side.But he did not drop his weapon.There was nothing equivocal about his determination.With the greatest deliberation he reached with his left hand for his pistol and taking careful aim shot Monsieur George through the left side of his breast.One may imagine the consternation of the four seconds and the activity of the two surgeons in the confined, drowsy heat of that walled garden.It was within an easy drive of the town and as Monsieur George was being conveyed there at a walking pace a little brougham coming from the opposite direction pulled up at the side of the road.A thickly veiled woman's head looked out of the window, took in the state of affairs at a glance, and called out in a firm voice: "Follow my carriage." The brougham turning round took the lead.Long before this convoy reached the town another carriage containing four gentlemen (of whom one was leaning back languidly with his arm in a sling) whisked past and vanished ahead in a cloud of white, Provencal dust.And this is the last appearance of Captain Blunt in Monsieur George's narrative.Of course he was only told of it later.At the time he was not in a condition to notice things.Its interest in his surroundings remained of a hazy and nightmarish kind for many days together.
From time to time he had the impression that he was in a room strangely familiar to him, that he had unsatisfactory visions of Dona Rita, to whom he tried to speak as if nothing had happened, but that she always put her hand on his mouth to prevent him and then spoke to him herself in a very strange voice which sometimes resembled the voice of Rose.The face, too, sometimes resembled the face of Rose.There were also one or two men's faces which he seemed to know well enough though he didn't recall their names.He could have done so with a slight effort, but it would have been too much trouble.Then came a time when the hallucinations of Dona Rita and the faithful Rose left him altogether.Next came a period, perhaps a year, or perhaps an hour, during which he seemed to dream all through his past life.He felt no apprehension, he didn't try to speculate as to the future.He felt that all possible conclusions were out of his power, and therefore he was indifferent to everything.He was like that dream's disinterested spectator who doesn't know what is going to happen next.Suddenly for the first time in his life he had the soul-satisfying consciousness of floating off into deep slumber.
When he woke up after an hour, or a day, or a month, there was dusk in the room; but he recognized it perfectly.It was his apartment in Dona Rita's house; those were the familiar surroundings in which he had so often told himself that he must either die or go mad.