They could not hear the talk, but it was quite clear that the duel was
over, and they turned away, somewhat disappointed that one of their own
had lost the combat, but somewhat pleased, too, that he had not lost his
own life at the same time.
"Shake hands, gentlemen," said de Galisonniere blithely. "Although no
blood was shed it was a hot battle and I hope when you two meet again it
will be in friendship and not in enmity. You are a fine swordsman,
Lennox, and it was honorable of you, de Mezy, when you didn't know his
caliber, to offer to take on, because of his youth, the older man, Mr.
Willet."
Robert came back and offered his hand frankly. De Mezy, whose head was
still ringing from his uncommon exertions and chagrin, took it. It was
bitter to have lost, but he still lived. In a manner as he saw it, he
had been disgraced, but time and the red wine and the white would take
away the sting. He still lived. That was the grand and beautiful fact.
Many more joyous days and nights awaited him in the company of Bigot and
Cadet and Pean, powerful men who knew how to exercise their power and
how to live at the same time.
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