The Enemies of Women (Los enemigos de la mujer)

"Good-by," replied the Prince, without stirring.

When he had almost reached the door, Atilio turned back.

"I know what my refusal means, and what it is up to me to do. Good-by again. Remember that if you were to ask me anything else…"

But the Prince interrupted his words with another gesture of indifference, and Atilio went away, hiding his emotion.

Immediately Don Marcos entered the bar, as though he had been waiting on the other side of the curtain for Castro to come out. His "chamberlain" had never seemed to the Prince so active and intelligent.

"It is all arranged, Marquis."

As he had felt certain that Atilio would not allow himself to be persuaded, he had gone in search of another second. He thought for a moment of going to Monaco, to speak to Novoa. Then he remembered the professor's relations with Valeria. Such a visit would be equivalent to informing the Duchess of the entire affair. Besides, the scientist did not know anything about such matters, and was a fellow countryman of Martinez. It was quite enough that one Spaniard should figure in this affair.

"I have my second," he continued. "It will be Lord Lewis."

In the Colonel's eyes, Lewis was more of a Lord than ever. He was thankful for the promptness with which he had granted his request. The Englishman was winning money that afternoon, and was in an excellent humor. He even got up from his seat, leaving the gambling, to listen to the Colonel. He wanted to take him over to the bar, affirming that with a whiskey in front of a fellow he can talk better; and Toledo guessed from his breath that he had already taken several drinks to celebrate his good luck. Lewis was disposed to serve his friend Lubimoff. As far as fights were concerned, he was acquainted only with boxing; but he had absolute confidence in the Colonel's expert opinion and would support anything he might say. Immediately afterwards he had returned to his play.

Michael gave Toledo his instructions. It would be an encounter under rigorous conditions, like those which he had witnessed in Russia. It could be nothing else: he had received a blow. And he said this with a sullen voice, quite convinced of the absolute reality of the insult.

As night fell, he left the Casino, avoiding his acquaintances who were invading the bar, and obliging him to smile and keep up frivolous conversation, while his thoughts were far away.

In all his moments of profound anger, when unable to put his feelings into immediate and violent action, his nervous excitation was followed by a certain lassitude which caused his muscles and nerves to relax.

It was with a real pleasure that he entered Villa Sirena, finding an unwonted voluptuousness in all the details of its comforts. He spent the time he was waiting for the Colonel in reading. At nine o'clock he was obliged to eat alone. Then he returned to his book, but this time in his bedroom, finally lying down, book in hand. He smiled with a smile that was almost a grimace, as he thought that his nervous fatigue had caused him to stretch out in the same posture as the dead.

He went on turning the pages without losing a single line, and nevertheless he could not have told what he was reading. Suddenly, he concentrated his attention in an effort to remember. Something had happened; something was awaiting him. What was it? "Oh, yes!" And after reconstructing in his memory what had taken place that afternoon, and imagining what was to take place the following day, he returned to his meaningless reading.

The pages melted away like snowflakes; he felt his hand grow lighter; the book finally fell on the bed. Instinctively he sought the electric button to darken the room, and before completely losing all perception of the outer world, he could hear his own first regular breathing.

A light striking against his eyes made him sit up. He saw the Colonel beside his bed. The deep silence of the night, which seemed even more absolute when emphasized by the sound of the sea, was broken off by the panting of a motor-car.

The Prince rubbed his eyes. What time was it?

"One o'clock," said Don Marcos.

Everything was arranged. The meeting was to take place on the following day, at two o'clock in the afternoon. It could not be managed earlier! There were still a great many things left to be done. The place selected was Lewis' castle; an encounter in the principality of Monaco would be impossible. All the houses there were close together, without a single quiet spot where two men might face each other, pistol in hand.

Lubimoff almost jumped out of bed, so great was his surprise. The choice of arms was his, as the injured person, and he had mentioned to his representative the saber, the favorite weapon of his youthful duels. Toledo, for the first time faced the furious look of his Prince without a tremor.

"Marquis," he said with dignity. "It could not be anything else! You must remember that this poor young man is a convalescent, almost an invalid. I am astonished that he should have persuaded his seconds to allow even pistols. His representatives did not want to accept anything. They are among those who feel that this duel ought not to take place."

The Prince calmed himself. A sense of equity caused him to accept Toledo's decision. That sick fellow was not an enemy worthy of his saber; it was necessary to establish a certain equality between them, and the pistol would do that, being the only weapon that lends itself to surprises and whims of chance.

"At any event I shall kill him," thought Michael, remembering his skill as a marksman.

"I must tell your Highness," the Colonel went on, "that all weapons are the same to him. This young man and his two friends are well acquainted with everything that concerns warfare, but they haven't the slightest notion of duelling and the weapons that are used on such occasions."

Then he enumerated the conditions. The distance was to be fifteen meters; each one was to fire a single shot, but each might aim and fire while he, who was to direct the combat, was counting from one to three. With a marksman like the Prince, such conditions would be serious.

Exactly! The Prince found them acceptable.

"Good-night," he said, burying himself in the bed, and pulling the coverlet up to his eyes.

Once more sleep overwhelmed him, now that his curiosity was satisfied.

Toledo would have liked to do the same, but he was obliged to fulfill the sacred duties of his exalted position, and he went from room to room looking through every drawer and climbing on chairs to rummage around on the top shelves of the closets. He was looking for a box of duelling pistols, that had been given to him in Russia by one of the Generals who was a friend of the dead Marquis. When he finally found it, he was obliged to spend more than an hour in cleaning the luxurious weapons, which had lost their silvery brilliancy in the oblivion of their long confinement.

He felt tired, yet at the same time his feeling of importance warded off sleep. Was he not the soul of the drama which was being prepared for the following day, he alone? Without him, neither his Highness nor Martinez could fight. Lord Lewis and the two soldiers who represented the adversary were incapable of a single idea, and had to follow him as though they were his pupils.

Consciousness of this superiority caused him to recall from mid-afternoon to mid-night all his past negotiations and triumphs.

He had gone in quest of Martinez, with a certain hesitation. In spite of his old beliefs, he felt Atilio's protests were quite reasonable. Perhaps what he said was right, that this duel was a piece of foolishness, madness even, on the part of the Prince. But his traditional ideas revolted against such scruples.

"Honor is honor." And, hearing the Lieutenant accept reparation by arms, with joy, and with a certain haste, as though he were afraid that Toledo would repent and withdraw the proposal, the Colonel felt the satisfaction of a person who, after long hesitation, becomes convinced that he is in the right. Heroic youth, ready to maintain all points of honor! Don Marcos found it natural that he should act thus. Martinez was from the same land as himself!

For a moment his memory dwelt on the image of the Duchess. Perhaps she was the involuntary cause of this clash, and the boy was animated by a feeling of vanity. He was going to figure in a duel such as he had read about in the story books of his youth; he was going to be a chief actor in one of those dreams of high life that seemed to him to belong to another world. But the Colonel immediately put aside such speculations, which had been suggested by the frank rejoicing with which Martinez accepted the challenge, as though it were an invitation to a party.

From that moment on Toledo began to be more and more bewildered. The world had changed, changed completely, and he advanced from amazement to amazement.

To favor his compatriot, he wanted to know the arms for which the latter had a preference.

"I am acquainted with so many!" exclaimed Martinez.

In an attack he had wounded with the point of a saber a gigantic German who was threatening him with his bayonet. The thrust had met something hard that crunched, and spurted a shower of blood into his face. Then, on growing calm, he saw that he had driven the weapon through his adversary's mouth, breaking his spinal column. He was also acquainted with the revolver, but was not a marksman. He was more expert with other weapons: the hand grenade, which reminded him of youthful ball games; the machine gun, which he had handled as a mere aid; explosive hurled with a sling. He was even fairly skilled in artillery, but trench artillery, in loading short range mortars, used in firing torpedoes and asphyxiating projectiles into the neighboring trench!

He smiled scornfully when Don Marcos insisted on the fencing formalities to be employed with the saber. He had his own style of fencing; to go straight up to the enemy and strike first. But in hand to hand fighting he preferred the knife. With a revolver he had never bothered about aiming. He didn't fire until he found himself close to the enemy, and was sure of his shot.

"And the duelling pistol?" asked the Colonel.

"I am not acquainted with it at all. I should like to see one: it must be something curious."

Toledo's hesitating glance wandered over the officer's breast, as though taking an inventory of his decorations, pausing at the stars that dotted the striped ribbons of his War Cross. Each one of them symbolized a great deed.

When the Lieutenant presented his seconds, the bewilderment of Don Marcos was not relieved. They were two extremely young captains. Toledo guessed they were twenty-five or twenty-six years of age. Their uniforms fitting very tight about the waist, their kepis of the latest style, their neatness and elegance pleased the Colonel, who immediately took them to be professional soldiers. They must have come from the school of Saint-Cyr; his professional eye could not be mistaken; they were of a different stock from humble Martinez!

One of them had had his face burned on one side by German liquid fire: the other's face was burrowed with a network of scarlet threads, which were the remains of scars. They both limped; one of them, with an enormous foot covered with wrappings and shod with a felt shoe, was quite frankly leaning on a stick; while his companion, who had a stiff leg, wore a trim tiny shoe, displaying a certain vanity also in a slender rattan cane, which he really used for support.

Their first words were rather embarrassing for the Colonel and Lewis. What was the meaning of this, a civilian daring to insult a soldier who was recovering from his wounds? What was the idea in proposing a duel in the midst of war? Any one who wanted to die himself or kill someone else had only to go to the front, like the rest. But Martinez, who was still present, intervened, entering into a rapid discussion with them. Did they want to do him this favor he had asked them as comrades, or not? Yes, but they were giving their own opinion of the matter. In their judgment the logical thing would have been to put an end to the quarrel right there on the Casino steps: two good punches at that slacker who wasn't going to war and took the liberty of annoying those who were doing their duty! They talked like men thoroughly aware of the fragility of life, like men who know how easy it is to take another man's life, or to lose one's. They laughed instinctively at the importance, the ceremonies and the so-called "equities" with which in peace times a private encounter is surrounded. But in the end, since their comrade insisted on their representing him in this farce, they would do it to please him, even though their compliance might get them into the guard house.

Scarcely had Martinez withdrawn, when one of the Captains, the one with the elephantine foot in a felt shoe, confessed his lack of competence in such matters.

"I never saw a duel in Bordeaux. I have no idea what it's like. Before the war I was a traveling salesman in Mexico. Wine was my line. I sailed with all the Frenchmen who were living there, and by a miracle we were not captured by a Boche pirate. I started in as a second class private; but I did what I could. If it were a business matter I would give my opinion, but in a thing like this!.. Perhaps my comrade here." Another Martinez! Don Marcos forgot the Captain with the felt shoe. He was the Lewis of the opposite side. He concentrated all his attention on the Captain with the shiny boots and the toy cane. The latter must be an adversary worthy of him. It was a shame that his clear eyes should have the ironical expression of a man who makes a joke of everything, and that under his red mustache, trimmed short, in the English fashion, there should flit a faint look of insolence!

He was born in Paris, as he proudly declared as soon as he started to speak; and when Don Marcos slyly sounded him to find out whether or not he was an expert in affairs of honor and had witnessed many duels, he said in a simple way:

"More than a hundred."

Toledo had not been mistaken. This was the man with whom he would have the struggle. Then he thought of the number, and compared it with the Captain's age. More than a hundred, and surely he was not over twenty-six! He had a presentiment that he was going to be up against some famous swordsman, whose glorious name has been momentarily obscured by the war.

The Captain and the Colonel were the only ones to do any talking. In the beginning the Captain had had an air of jesting, with a Parisian sense of humor, at the solemn, high-sounding terms in which Don Marcos treated questions of honor. But the Colonel's reserved and persistent grandiloquence finally got the better of the other's inclination to banter. The young Captain took the same tone as the Colonel, finally interested in the affair and recognizing its importance.

At certain moments, the Colonel felt doubtful on listening to the way in which his rival formulated amazing heresies, revealing absolute ignorance of the great authorities who have codified the laws of encounters between gentlemen. And this man had been present at more than a hundred duels! Later, Don Marcos was amazed at the promptness with which the texts he had cited himself were appropriated by the young man; at the ease with which his classics had been assimilated, somewhat inverted in meaning, to be sure, the better to sustain affirmations contrary to his own.

When the encounter was arranged for in its slightest details, the Captain summed up his impressions with a simplicity that made the blood of Don Marcos run cold.

"One or both perhaps will be wounded. There is nothing extraordinary about that. Who isn't wounded these days? Surgery has made great progress; it is quite different from what it was at the beginning of the war. If a man doesn't die on the spot, he is nearly always saved. Besides, they will put them to bed and they won't remain abandoned on the field for days and days, as happens in war."

But the placid expression with which he talked about wounds was clouded over, giving way to a grim look.

"I am assuming, of course," he continued, "that no one is killed. Because if, for example, my comrade, Martinez, who is as gentle as a lamb and of whom I am very fond, should die in this farce, I'll kill your Prince on the spot, without any rules whatsoever, the way we kill a Boche at the front."

The tone in which he said these words was so sincere, that the Colonel, deeply impressed by them, did not observe how strange they sounded in the mouth of an expert in the laws of honor.

The conversation became more intimate and cordial as always happens when a difficult matter has been settled. Toledo was obliged to tell them about his life as a soldier – at least the way he imagined it had been, after so many years – and both young men, who had witnessed the combats of millions of men, showed the same interest as children listening to a strange tale, as he related obscure encounters in the mountains, battles that did not even have a name and were remembered only in an exaggerated fashion by Don Marcos himself.

The Parisian Captain, elegant and charming, also talked about his past.

"As for me, before the war, I worked in the Box Office of the theaters on the Boulevard. I haven't any other position."

Don Marcos had to make an effort to conceal his surprise. Indeed, he had seen more than a hundred duels; but in plays on the stage, between actors, who draw out the preliminaries of the encounters with ceremonious deliberation, in order to prolong the suspense of the audience. He should have guessed it on hearing his nonsense! What a fool that boy had made of him!

But immediately his eyes fell on the coats of the two young men. The same as Martinez: The Legion of Honor, the Military Medal and the War Cross, with stars. That of the former ticket seller was even crossed by a golden palm.

Ah, indeed! The world had changed. Where were the days of Don Marcos? Then he thought of all he had done in his life to increase his own self esteem; by appearing in full ceremony at various duels where most often no blood was shed. He also thought of what these young men had done and seen in less than four years. Their obscure origin brought to his memory the various warriors of Napoleon, whose names were celebrated and whose origin had been even worse. Some of them had succeeded in becoming kings, while these poor Captains once the war was over, would have to return, laden with glory, to their former occupations, struggling day by day to earn their bread!

They separated, agreeing to meet after dinner, to sign the paper stating the conditions of the encounter. They were all four in accord, but on mentioning this number, Toledo noticed that there were only three. Lewis had witnessed the long preliminaries with a certain impatience, seated on a divan in the ante-room of the Casino.

"There's a friend waiting for me. I'll be back in a moment."

And he had entered the gambling rooms, which were forbidden to the officers.

The Colonel had no illusions as to the duration of that moment, about two hours having passed. After leaving the Captains, he found Lewis at a trente et quarante table, with a heap of thousand franc chips in front of him. Of course he did not understand what Toledo whispered in his ear. He had to make an effort to recall.

"Oh, yes, the matter of the duel! I have every confidence in you; do whatever you please, I shall sign what you give me, but I am not going to get up, even though they might tell me Lubimoff was dead. What a day this has been, my friends! If they were all like this!"

And he turned his back, to make the most of his time, before the flight of luck would change.

Don Marcos had dined in the Café de Paris, going over in his mind the various articles he should put in the dueling agreement. The consideration that they were all relying on his superior knowledge caused him to be very exacting with himself. He wanted something concise and brilliant which would inspire respect in those boys, who were covered with glory. And he spent more than an hour, with the dessert dishes in front of him on the table, scribbling over sheet after sheet of paper, tearing each one up and beginning all over again on another. It was futile work: both signed in the reading room of the Casino, hardly giving the eloquent text a glance. As for Lewis he was obliged to get him out of the private gambling rooms by every sort of trick, and entreaty. The Englishman had forgotten to dine, in order not to offend Madame Fortune by his absence, and that stubborn Colonel came and disturbed him with his damned affair of the duel!

He signed the document without looking at it; he gave his word to the officers that he would come and get them in an automobile to take them to his castle. Then he ran away immediately, not without first saying to Don Marcos in a gruff tone:

"Until four o'clock, no later! If it isn't all over at four, I'll let them kill each other alone and come back here. That's the hour that the fine deals commence. To-day's luck is going to continue."

And he fled, smiling with pity on people who were occupied with less important things.

On finding himself alone, the Colonel began to make preparations for the encounter. He needed a doctor. He would go next morning and find an old physician in Monte Carlo who visited the Prince from time to time. He needed powder and balls; he proposed to go in quest of them to-morrow also. He needed two cases of pistols, and he had only one!

The matter of the two cases he considered essential. The other man's seconds did not know where to get theirs. No matter; he would find them one. The indispensable thing was that there should be two, so that fate might decide which they should use. Without that, the conditions would not be equal. And he spent the time until about one o'clock in the morning, asking hotel employees, rousing people out of bed, going down to the rooms of the Sporting Club, until an American whom he knew gave him a note for a certain fellow-countryman, a gloomy, half crazy fellow, who lived in an isolated villa on Cap-Ferrat. He thought he would conclude this negotiation the following day; and to do so he had rented an automobile.

Owing to the lack of vehicles and gas, the cost of the car was enormous; but it was necessary owing to the importance of his functions.

But now he was in Villa Sirena, at two o'clock in the morning, slowly cleaning the pistols, as though they were fragile jewels.

In the silence of his bedroom, far from mankind, influenced by the lonely mystery of the small hours of the night, which puts a certain vagueness in things and ideas, he felt an enormous self-aggrandizement. No; his world had not changed as much as he thought. The proof was that he was there, cleaning weapons for a duel!

On waking up the next morning, the Prince could not find his "chamberlain". The rented auto had carried him off at seven o'clock, to complete his preparations.

Lubimoff wandered about the gardens, stopping in front of the cages, which sheltered various exotic birds. Then with an absent-minded look, he followed the evolutions of various peacocks, spreading their tails, colored blue and golden, or a royal black, in the sunlight.

His old valet interrupted his promenade. Some men had come with a truck to get Señor Castro's baggage.

Michael showed no surprise; they might hand over everything to them that belonged to Don Atilio. But the servant added that the same men also wanted to take away the little that belonged to Señor Spadoni, news which amazed the Prince. He, too! What reason had Spadoni to desert him?

He glanced at the brief note written to the Colonel and signed by them both. In his flight, Castro was taking with him the dreamy pianist.

"All right," he thought; "let them all leave; let them leave me alone. If they think that by doing so they are going to make me refrain from carrying out my intention!.."

Then he resumed his walk.

Only a few hours remained before he would find himself facing that young man whom he so hated. He was going coldly to do away with him, so that he would not continue to be a nuisance. The conditions planned by the Colonel were sufficient for a marksman of his skill to bring down his adversary. He needed only a single shot.

For a moment he thought of going to the end of the gardens, where he sometimes passed the time shooting. It was a good idea that he should practise steadiness of hand – the pistol is full of surprises. Then he decided not to, as it seemed unworthy that he should add these preparations to his evident superiority. His mediocre adversary could not be practising at that time. He had no facilities for doing so in Monte Carlo where he had no other friends than his convalescent comrades and a few ladies. He, on the other hand!.. he held out his muscular arm, keeping it rigid for a few seconds with his eye glued on his fist. There was not the slightest tremor! He would be able to place a ball wherever he wanted. Poor Martinez might consider himself a dead man. And not the slightest sign of remorse disturbed the Prince's infernal pride in his implacable strength.