THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

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      The ex-deputy had been among the first to leave Marseille. He had taken refuge at his country residence in the Saint Joseph quarter, where he was living alone, and was quite ferocious with suppressed irritation. Since his interview with M. de Girousse he had fallen into a state of despondency which was broken at distant intervals, by frightful outbursts of passion. Although a year had passed, he still heard the old Count’s words of indignation and contempt tinkling in his ears. These words were choking him and he would fain have relieved himself by wreaking vengeance on someone. Understanding that it would be impossible to pick a quarrel with M. de Girousse, he ardently desired to find himself face to face with Philippe, so to end the matter one way or another, either killing his enemy or being killed by him.

      He thought no more about the money, he had lost his appetite for luxury and power. Since he had heard that the Cayols abandoned all claim to his niece’s fortune it became a matter of indifference to him. He now had but one great desire at heart: to wash away M. de Girousse’s expressions of contempt with the blood of an enemy. And lo! all at once, he met Philippe at a deserted spot, in the middle of this wood which belonged to him. He had gone out, his head bent down, seeking a means to attain his end, and chance placed him face to face with the very person he wished to meet to satisfy his vengeance.

      The two men stared for a moment at each other in silence. They had both stooped, as if to be ready to spring at each other’s throats. Then each felt ashamed at finding himself in the attitude of a wild animal, when they wished to act toward one another as civilized animals.

      “I have been seeking you for a year,” said M. de Cazalis at last. “You are in my way and I’m in yours. One of us must disappear.”

      “I’m quite of your opinion,” answered Philippe.

      “I have weapons in that house. Wait for me. In a few seconds I’ll be with you.”

      “No. We cannot fight so. If I were to kill you they would accuse me of murdering you. We must have witnesses.”

      “And where shall we find them?”

      “In a couple of hours both of us can go to Marseille and be back again with two of our friends.”

      “Good. The meeting is for noon at this same spot.”

      “Yes, at this same spot.”

      They had spoken in a stern voice and without the least insult. The provocation was natural, as if it were a matter agreed upon long before.

      Philippe went immediately to Marseille, resolving to keep his brother in ignorance of what was about to occur, for he felt the encounter necessary, and would not run the risk of an obstacle being placed in the way of it.

      As he was going down the Cours, he met Sauvaire tearing along.

      “Don’t stop me,” said the ex-master-stevedore to him. “I’m returning to the Aygalades in great haste. The men are falling like flies here. There were eighty deaths yesterday.”

      Philippe, without listening to him, told him he had a duel on hand and relied on him. When he had named his adversary Sauvaire exclaimed:

      “I’m your man, and I would not be sorry to see that scoundrel’s brains blown out.”

      They called together on M. Martelly, whose courageous behaviour was causing universal admiration in Marseille. The shipowner listened to Philippe gravely, and thought as he did, that the duel was necessary and inevitable.

      “I am at your disposal,” he answered simply.

      The three men took a cab, and at a little before noon entered the pine wood where they had to wait for M. de Cazalis. At length he arrived. After having ran through Marseille in search of a couple of friends in vain, he had made up his mind to go to a barracks where two obliging sergeants consented to act as witnesses. As soon as the cab that brought them had been sent to stand near that of Philippe, the paces were counted and the weapons loaded, rapidly and in silence, and without any attempt being made at reconciliation. Never before had preparations for a duel been more prompt or simple.

      When the principals had been placed face to face, Philippe whom fortune had favoured, raised his arm ready to fire, but he all at once felt a presentiment and shuddered. Before M. de Cazalis had arrived, he had been looking in a melancholy way at the pines which surrounded him and beneath which he had courted in days gone by. Chance is at times cruel. The scenery was the same, the vast heavens expanded with the same limpidity, the country displayed an horizon as soft and peaceful. When Philippe raised his pistol he thought he remembered that he was on the very spot where Blanche had given him her first kiss, and that remembrance caused him singular trouble. He fancied he heard his heart murmur:

      “Where I have sinned, there shall I be punished.”

      He pressed the trigger with a trembling hand. The bullet, badly aimed, sped, and broke a branch of one of the pines.

      M. de Cazalis, in his turn, raised his weapon. He aimed with contracted features and flaming eyes. Sauvaire and Martelly, looking very pale, waited. Philippe with his body slightly sideways, looked courageously at the pistol threatening him, but in truth he did not see it, he was thinking in spite of himself, of Blanche, and he heard all his being crying louder than before:

      “Where I have sinned, there shall I be punished.”

      The pistol went off. Philippe fell.

      M. Martelly and Sauvaire ran up to him. He had sunk down on the grass with his hand to his right side.

      “You are touched?” inquired the ex-master-stevedore in an unsteady voice.

      “I am killed,” murmured Philippe. “This spot was bound to be fatal to me.”

      And he fainted. The two witnesses consulted together for an instant, whilst staunching his wound. In their haste they had not thought of bringing a doctor with them. It was imperative to transport the wounded man to Marseille as rapidly as possible

      “Listen,” said M. Martelly, “we’ll put him in a cab and I’ll take him to the hospital, for he’ll be more promptly attended to there than anywhere else. In the meanwhile you run and tell his brother. Act so that the young woman and child do not suspect anything.”

      Both were deeply affected, it seemed that they were losing one of theirs. Sauvaire ran off towards Saint Just, while M. Martelly, assisted by the sergeants, carried Philippe to the vehicle. M. de Cazalis had retired, acting the indifferent, but with his heart bounding with intense delight.

      The shipowner instructed the driver to go slowly. For nearly an hour that the sad journey lasted, he supported the unconscious wounded man’s pale, vacillating head. He had placed his handkerchief to the wound to stop the blood; but he saw the patient so weak that he feared he would never be able to get him to the hospital alive.

      They arrived at last. When M. Martelly stated that he brought a wounded man, he was answered rather abruptly that all the wards were full. At length Philippe was received; only there was no room and he was taken into a cholera ward, the doctor who had seen him on his admission, shaking his head and saying they could put him anywhere, as he was beyond all danger from the disease.

      M. Martelly accompanied him, for he would not go away until Marius arrived. The ward into which he entered had a sinister look, and extended in the dim light to a considerable СКАЧАТЬ