The Chevalier d'Auriac

This story, like its predecessor, has been written in those rare moments of leisure that an Indian official can afford. Bits of time were snatched here and there, and much, perhaps too much, reliance has had to be placed on memory, for books there were few or none to refer to. Occasionally, too, inspiration was somewhat rudely interrupted. Notably in one instance, in the Traveller's Bungalow at Hassan Abdal (Moore's Lalla Rookh was buried hard by), when a bat, after making an ineffectual swoop at a cockroach, fell into the very hungry author's soup and put an end to dinner and to fancy. There is an anachronism in the tale, in which the writer finds he has sinned with M. C. de Remusat in "Le Saint-Barthélemy." The only excuse the writer has for not making the correction is that his object is simply to enable a reader to pass away a dull hour.

'Mille diables! Lost again! The devil runs in those dice!' and de Gomeron, with an impatient sweep of his hand, scattered the little spotted cubes on to the floor of the deserted and half-ruined hut, wherein we were beguiling the weariness of our picket duty before La Fère, with a shake of our elbows, and a few flagons of wine, captured from Monsieur the King of Navarre, as we, in our folly, called him still.

A few days before we had cut out a convoy which the Béarnais was sending into the beleaguered town. Some of the good things the convoy bore found their way to the outposts; and on the night I speak of we had made such play with our goblets that it was as if a swarm of bees buzzed in my head. As for de Gomeron, he was in no better case, and his sun-tanned face was burning a purple red with anger at his losses and the strength of the d'Arbois, both of which combined to give a more than usually sinister look to his grim and lowering features. In short, we were each of us in a condition ripe for any mischief: I hot with wine and the fire of five-and-twenty years, and de Gomeron sullenly drunk, a restrained fury smouldering in his eyes.

We had been playing by the light of a horn lantern, and as the flame of it flickered to and fro in the wind, which bustled in unchecked through a wide gap in the wall of the hut, where the remains of a door clung to a bent and twisted hinge, the shadow of de Gomeron on the wall behind him moved its huge outlines uneasily, although the man himself sat silent and still, and there was no word spoken between us. Hideous and distorted, this phantom on the wall may have been the soul of de Gomeron, stolen out of the man's body and now hovering behind him, instinct with evil; and this conceit of mine began to appear a reality, when I turned my glance at the still figure of my companion, showing no sign of life, except in the sombre glitter of the eyes that gazed at me steadily.

I knew little of de Gomeron, except that he was of the Camargue, and had followed the fortunes of d'Aumale from Arques to Ivry, from Ivry to the Exile in the Low Countries, and that he held a commission from the duke as captain in his guards. He carried a 'de' before his name, but none of us could say where his lands lay, or of what family he came; and it was shrewdly suspected that he was one of those weeds tossed up by the storms of the times from the deep where they should have rotted for ever. There were many such as he, canaille who had risen from the ranks; but none who bore de Gomeron's reputation for intrepid courage and pitiless cruelty, and even the hardened veterans of Velasco spoke with lower tones when they told of his deeds at the sack of Dourlens and the pillage of Ham. Of our personal relations it is enough to say that we hated each other, and would have crossed swords ere now but for the iron discipline maintained by de Rône – a discipline the bouquet of which I had already scented, having escaped by the skin of my teeth after my affair with de Gonnor, who trod on my toe at the General's levée, and was run through the ribs at sunrise the next morning, near the pollard elms, hard by the Red Mill on the left bank of the Serre.

Up to the time this occurred I had been attached to de Rône's staff, with ten or twelve other young gentlemen whose pedigrees were as long as their swords; but after the accident to de Gonnor – my foot slipped and I thrust a half inch too low – I was sent with the stormers to Laon, and then banished to the outposts, thinking myself lucky to escape with that.