"Vicomte," said the Chevalier, "we are all drunk. Let us see if there be
steady hands among us. I make you a wager."
"On what?"
"There are eight candles on your side of the table, eight on mine. I
will undertake to snuff mine in less time than it takes you to snuff
yours. Say fifty pistoles to make it interesting."
"Done!" said the vicomte.
Perhaps Victor was the soberest man among them, next to the vicomte, who
had jestingly been accused of having hollow bones, so marvelous was his
capacity for wine and the art of concealing the effects. Several times
the poet had crossed the vicomte's glance as it was leveled in the
Chevalier's direction. Each time the vicomte's lips had been twisted
into a half smile which was not unmixed with pitying contempt. Somehow
the poet did not wholly trust the vicomte. Genius has strange instincts.
While Victor admired the vicomte's wit, his courage, his recklessness,
there was a depth to this man which did not challenge investigation, but
rather repelled it. What did that half smile signify? Victor shrugged.
Perhaps it was all his imagination. Perhaps it was because he had seen
the vicomte look at Madame de Brissac . . . as he himself had often
looked. Ah well, love is a thing over which neither man nor woman has
control; and perhaps his half-defined antagonism was based upon jealousy.
There was some satisfaction to know that the vicomte's head was in no
less danger than his own. He brushed aside these thoughts, and centered
his interest in the game which was about to begin.
The vicomte drew his sword, and accepted that of Lieutenant de Vandreuil
of the fort, while the Chevalier joined to his own the rapier of his
poet-friend. Both the vicomte and the Chevalier held enviable
reputations as fancy swordsmen. To snuff a candle with a pair of swords
held scissorwise is a feat to be accomplished only by an expert.
Interest in the sport was always high; and to-night individual wagers as
to the outcome sprang up around the table. "Saumaise," said the vicomte,
"will you hold the watch?"
"With pleasure, Vicomte," accepting the vicomte's handsome time-piece.
"Messieurs, it is now twenty-nine minutes after ten; promptly at thirty I
shall give the word, preceding it with a one-two-three. Are you ready?"
The contestants nodded. Several seconds passed, in absolute silence.
"One-two-three--go!"
The Chevalier succeeded in snuffing his candles three seconds sooner than
the vicomte. The applause was loud. Breton was directed to go to the
cellars and fetch a dozen bottles of white chambertin.
"You would have won, Vicomte," said the Chevalier, "but for a floating
wick."
"Your courtesy exceeds everything," returned the vicomte, bowing with
drunken exaggeration.
The doors slid back, and Jehan appeared on the threshold.