Lord Eglinton's Wager

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIX, Issue 5, 3 August 1907, Page 57

Lord Eglinton's Wager

By

Baroness Orczy

—* IllvitstT'aiteci by Wilmot Lctr?t

AND the miniature? Ah, yes; it is Lord Eglinton. you know, that same handsome, merry, dashing, young Lord Eglinton who.won all hearts at the Court of Louis XV., and created for himself a reputation for valour and—shall I say?—for impudence unequalled by any of his contemporaries. How well the artist has caught the expression of those laughing blue eyes, and of the proud, disdainful line around the sensitive lips. . No wonder the young Englishman was popular at the Court of Versailles. He was rich, too, and a magnificent swordsman, and what was best of all —an ardent admirer of the frailer sex. It was the age of frailty, too; virtue was not a la mode at that brilliant Court, and many a pair of ruby lips smiled at the gallant young Englishman, and tender eyes wept when he frowned. No wonder that he held smiles and tears lightly, nay, even in gentle, pleasant contempt. The gardens of Versailles were full to overflowing with lovely, luscious fruit, and he had but to stretch forth one of his slender, aristocratic hands, and lo! the ripening peach and full-blown apple fell readily within his grasp. Not all, though. There was Marianne de Neuilly. Proud, exquisite, fastidious Marianne! scarce out of her teens, wet with all tre jeune noblesse of France at her feet. They knelt, and she passed disdainfully by, holding up her dainty white skirts away from contamination with this dissolute Court. She was under the guardianship of her brother, the Due de Neuilly, himself as proud as Lucifer. And he had plenty to be proud of. too. His ancient lineage, his position at Court, his influence and political attainments; and. above all. the beauty and virtue of his sister and ward. Marianne. Marianne was tall and divinely fair, and prouder even than her brother. M. le Due de Neuilly. Everyone at Versailles knew that, and at this Court where freedom of language was only equalled by freedom of action, a barrier of respect and instinctive homage had been erected around the personality of Marianne de Neuilly. The young Earl of Eglinton should have known it, too.

Nay! I’ll not excuse him! but remember. he had been very much spoilt, and not one pair of beautiful eyes had ever frowned when Lord Eglinton had chosen to smile. But that night he felt piqued. He had danced the minuet with her, and whispered soft nothings in her ears, which she had received with such disdainful aloofness that an unaccountable sense seized him, as of *a conqueror baffled by a weaker foe. Then his friends and hers began to chaff him: it had been very amusing to watch the irresistible young buck being so persistently snubbed, where he most desired to conquer. “Ma foi, milor Eglinton,” said the young Marquis de Mirepoix, “you will find our French beauties more farouche than your English ones, eh?” “And ’tis many a time you will prick your fingers, as you aim at gathering the roses of France!” added the Viscount d’Ethain, with an affected smirk. “By this you mean, M. le Viscomte? ” queried the Englishman, haughtily. “That the fleur de lys is not destined to adorn the Eglinton coat of arms, milor,” responded the Viscomte. lightly. “No offence, I assure. Will you honour me at a game of hazard?” The young lord bit his lip. His temper was rising. Accustomed to succeed and to rule, he was not ready to take failure philosophically. And Marianne was very beautiful! Her very pride had captivated his fancy! He would have given much to force her to stoop. “A game of hazard, milor?” repeated the young Viscomte, with a slightly ironical smile. “As you please.” retorted Lord Eglintbn. The Viscompte shuffled the cards, and the talk drifted into other channels, but Lord Eglinton remained tnrody and silent, despite the fact that, as the evening wore on. a pile of gold seemed to grow in amazing profusion close beside him. whilst the young Viscomte’s pile diminished with equally astonishing rapidity. “Ah, milor!” said the Viscomte at last, as he threw a further handful of louis on the table, “I find myself wishing that your suit had prospered to-night.”

“My suit?” queried Lord Eglinton, haughtily. “Aye, indeed! for does not the proverb say: “Unlucky in love, lucky at cards?’” “And you consider, monsieur, that being lucky at cards to-night, I must of necessity have been unlucky in love?” added the Englishman, with that icy calm which always portends a coming storm. “Obviously, milor.” retorted the other lightly, “had Mlle, de Neuilly not frowned on you, I might sttll be richer by the several hundred louis which have passed from my pocket into yours.” “Then have no fear, Viscomte. my luck at cards is always of short duration.” “Oho?” “As is my ill-luck in love.” “Is that a boast, milor?” “It is more, Viscompte, it is a chailense.” “How so?” “Will you take my wager?” “Certainly.” “Double or quits,” continued Lord Eglinton. carelessly passing his hand over the pile of gold beside him and scattering it over the table, so that the louis rolled hither and thither, some of them on to the floor. “Double or quits by all means,” retorted the Viscomte. What is your wager, milor?” “That my suit prospers to-night.” “With Mademoiselle de Neuilly?” queried the Viscomte. ironically. “Nay! I’ll lay you half my fortune that she’ll not smile on you to-night.” “Double or quits,” said the Englishman, coldly, “that I win a kiss from Marianne de Neuilly to-night.” “Liar and impudent coward,” came in stentorian accents from the further end of the room. Lord Eglinton turned suddenly to face the daring utterer of this monstrous insult. and found himself face to face with the Due de Neuilly. Marianne’s brother, and the guardian of her person and of her innocence. There was a moment of deathlike stillness in the room. The Viscomte had not replied to the Englishman’s final challenge, and Lord Eglinton himself, dazed by this sudden tragic Turn of events, felt his proud tamper, his boastful arrogance, slipping away from him like a noisome mantle of evil. His sangfroid had never forsaken him. even when he had proposed the insolent wager over a woman's honour, but now he saw his own conduct in all its cowardice. and in his turn would have given half his fortune to undo the pkst halfhour of his life. The Due de Neuilly had stepped forward and lightly thrown his glove in the Englishman’s face. A deadly insult, and one that could only be wiped out by the blood freely shed in a woman’s cause. There were but four men present in the room at the time; the two antagonists. facing one another, then the Viscomte d’Ethain and the Marquis de Mirepoix. passive spectators of the coming inevitable tragedy. The card-room where this brief drama was taking place was some little distance from the ball room beyond, whence the sound of gay dance music came as a faint and tender echo. "Then draw, milor.” said the Due de Neuilly, with equal ealm: "for as the cowardly words left your lips I swore to God that you should not leave this room alive.”

“As you please!” “Marquis, I pray you guard the doors,” continued the Due, quietly; “Hie quarrel is between myself and milor Eglinton alone. Gentlemen. I trust to your honour that my sister’s name will not be mentioned in connection with this affair.” “We swear it, of course,” said the Marquis and Viscomte jointly. “We’ll call it a quarrel over a game of cards, M. le Due.” added Lord Eglinton. “I swear to you that I already regret my presumptuous folly, and am prepared to pay for it at the risk of my life.” There were a few preliminary details to go through ere these two high-born gentlemen prepared to cut one another’s throat. But the Marquis de Mirepoix was well versed in all matters pertaining to the etiquette of affairs of honour. He also saw to the door, that no one should come to disturb the combatants; he, himself, acted as second to the Due de Neuilly, whilst the Viscomte d’Ethain performed the same friendly offfee'towards Lord Eglinton. It is from the Viscomte himself that we have the particulars of this extraordinary and momentous duel. Both gentlemen were noted swordsmen, both in the prime of life, active and determined. On the whole, perhaps, at first sight, the advantage lay with the Englishman. He was as calm and impassive as if he were practising with the foils in a salic d’armes, rather than measuring swords with a man who had sworn before God that he should not leave the room alive. The Due de Neuilly was too well-bred, too proud, to show the deadly hatred which he felt for the man who—he considered—had dared to insult Marianne. That a storm of passion was raging beneath his outward calm was, however, clear to both the spectators, for from the first the Due’s sword-play was somewhat wild. He attacked the Englishman with vigour. nay!—so the Viscomte asserts — with passionate fury, whilst Lord Eglinton at first confined himself to a defensive line of action. The Due seemed with the very point of his blade to challenge his antagonist to a more determined attack, once or twice he so uncovered himself that it was a marvel that the Englishman’s sword did not pierce his breast. The Viscomte. in his account of the duel, makes a great point of this fact, and he is right there, as it certainly makes what subsequently followed all the more, unexplainable. Both the spectators were lost in admiration of Lord Eglinton’s brillian’ parries, and of his admirable sangfroid. But these very qualities seemed every moment to enrage the Due de Neuilly more and more, and his last attack was dealt with such indiscreet fury that literally the Englishman held his French antagonist’s life absolutely at his mercy. And yet. at the very moment of such an easy and assured victory, something happened. . . . What was it? Neither the Visconite nor the Marquis were ever able to say; all they knew was that Lord Eglinton suddenly appeared to swerve, the Due de Neuilly uttered a short cry of triumph, then one of horror as the young Englishman seemed literally to throw himself upon his antagonist’s sword, and then, without a groan, fell barkwards to the floor, whilst a deep crimson stain rapidly spread itself over his elegant satin waistcoat. “My God! have I killed him?” murmured the Due. throwing aside his wea-

pon, and stepping forward quickly in 01 ■ *h»r to receive the swooning figure of his gallant young antagonist in his arms. All his fury and unreasoning temper had vanished before the awesome in.ijesty of the grey shadow which gradually spread over the Englishan’s face. “A leech! quick!” he begged hastily, and Mirepoix hurried out of the room, ready to olm\v his friend's behest. The other two with clumsy, yet loving bands were doing their best to staunch the blood which was flowing freely from the younir man’s wound. The Due. there is no doubt, was positively heartbroken, for the wound looked deep and deadly, and it is a terrible thing to have the life of a fellow being — a young man. a friend—upon one’s conscience. Moreover, the Due was of the old school of French gentlemen, very devout and pious. •‘Will God ever forgive me this great

he murmured, trying with anxious, burning eyes to read that same |»ardon in Eglinton's filmy eyes. "Will you forgive me?” he added, under his breath, -earvely daring to hope, knowing full uell that a man who is dying i> none too ready to forgive his murderer. But ever >inve the y oung man had re covered from bi- original -\\o«»n. be had obviou-ly been making vigorous effortto pull himself together. He had ob- \ iou-ly -omething very important to -ay. At the Due'- la-t words he seenvd to finally conquer hi- weakness, and said quietly: "Nay! M. le Due. bow can I have anything to forgive? ’Ti- T should seek pardon.” “Pardon? From whom?” asked the Due. kindly. "From her whom in my folly I dared to insult.” "Don’t -peak of that now. friend. T'is forgotten. 1 a—ure you.” "Nay. 1 cannot f>»rget my presumption.” -slid Eglinton with energy. "I

think ... I think I should die happier if ... if she knew . . . and would for"You would not r. fuse a (lying man's request?” he added, with infinite pathos, seeing that the Due appeared to hesitate. It was impossible to withstand this appeal. The Due felt it: he gave a scare? perceptible sign to the Virompte. who left the room. I'he wounded man repeated anxiously: "You will fell her?” "Yes !’’ whispered the Due reassuring ly : “d’Ethain has gone to fetch her.” "Will she refuse to come?” "She is here to answer that question herself.” said the Due. as the door was pushed open and Marianne—exquisite, proud, beautiful Marianne—stepped into the room. More lovely than ever, for her luminous eyes were rendered doubly brilliant

by tear- of sorrow and pity. D’Ethain had briefly told her that a man who was grievously wounded wished to see her before he died. And Marianne was a true woman, pitiful and strong, and she came to soothe the last moments of the man who had asked for her. For a fe\ brief moments Eglinton feasted his m»u! on the exquisite vision before him. whilst Marianne stood with tear dimmed eyes looking down at the prostrate figure of the gallant young Englishman, who but a while ago had Iwen so full of gaiety, of daring, and of the joy of living. “Will you tell her all. M. le Due?” murmered Lord Eglinton at last. The I hie deNeuilly tried to protest, but it seemed a dying man’s wish, and reluctantlv he complied. Briefly he told hi- sister of the Englishman’s boast, the wager, the challenge, and finally the combat. she had frowned when she heard the beginning of the story, and at one moment it seemed as if even now she would

turn away from him in promt contempt, hot he looked so helpless and broken, lying there* pah* and silent, with dimmed eyes turned in rapt adoration towards her. that a great and overwhelming pity tilled her heart and she stayed. The leeeh in the meanwhile had entered. He* examined and dressed the wound, but h<* shook his wise old head sadly and ominously. The young man. in spite of his pluek and endurance, had half swooned away under the leech's treatment. "Will he die’" whispered Marianne* in a voice half-choked with sobs, as instinctively and still overwhelmed by that great and wonderful pity she dropped on her kites beside the wounded man. and with tender, soothing fingers gently stroked his pallid brow. “I'll die in peace, if you will forgive* me. Marianne!” murmured Eglinton feeblv.

"Yes! yes! I'll forgive you!” she replied through her tears. “Oh! leech!” she added with heartbroken accents, "must he die?” But before the* le ch could answer, the wounded man had turned an appealing look to her. "If you have forgiven me, Marianne —” he whispered, “will you—will you kiss me ?” His dying request! How could she refuse? She bent her head and kissed him. There was dead silence in the room, whilst an angel fluttered across it; in the far distance* could still be faintly heard the lively tune of the minuet. "D’Ethain. I Irave won my wager.” said Lord Eglinton. with proud triumph. "Now leech!” he added quietly. “I am ready to hear whether I am to die." Marianne would have risen, indignant, to her feet, but he held her fast, with that feeble, yet irresistible grasp of one sick unto death. "Monsieur ” she began. “Nay!” he murmured, "have I sinned

so very deeply then? 1 could not win a kiss from your proud lips save—save by paying—with my life for it. The Due will tell you —I had him at my sword's point—but 1 knew that you were as good as you were beautiful—you would not refuse—a dying man's requ st—a man who was dying to win a kiss from you. So 1 won my wager the only way I could—with my life." She eotdd not speak now, for her tears were choking her. but she turned with a desperate* appeal to the- leech. "Nay. mademoiselle,” said that worthy man. "all lives are in God’s keeping. 1 was about to say just now that the English inilor is young—and robust—and given an incentive for recovery, I'll guarantee that Nature will pull him through.” ••He'll recover, you think?” The cry came from the heart, gladly, joyously, with all the pride gone out of her sweet face*, and only the love-light in her eyes. “I’ll recover,” said the wounded man with quaint determination, “if you will nurse me back to life.” “But you might have died." she said piteously, “and for a kiss.” “Aye. for a kiss from you. sweetheart —and would deem my life but poor repayment for the rapture of that kiss.” She folded him in her protecting arms, and nature, too. kindly wonud her gentie mantle round him. wrapping him at last in sweet, restoring unconsciousness. He had at last an incentive for recovery. Marianne nursed him back to health and life. And that is how it is the Eglinton's have a French ancestress, Marianne de Neuilly, who was Countess of Eglinton when George 111. was King of England.