Read Online The Europe That Was by Geoffrey Household - Free Book Online

gangsters but enough for a sharp lesson.
    I drove Rob to the tavern, where we sat under the willows along a backwater of the river and shared a bottle of white wine. There was a poor and respectable clerk entertaining his family in the garden and obviously above all suspicion—obviously, that is, unless one had a guilty conscience and began to wonder why he should choose such an hour on a working day for a family treat. He went into the back passage of the tavern where there was a telephone. I felt suddenly hopeful and, simultaneously, defiled.
    We left soon after twelve. The track which ran along the river was full of pot-holes and cut by pebble drifts from the fast spring torrents. I doubted if the car would take it and allowed plenty of time in case we had to walk part of the way.
    But the track gave us no trouble at all. We climbed the flood-bank. Below us were the hard sand, the blue swirl of the river and another car. The military men, coming direct from Bucharest, had evidently doubted the state of their track just as I did, and arrived early at the rendezvous.
    â€˜For heaven’s sake tell me what I do!’ Rob appealed. ‘Do I say good-morning, or what?’
    â€˜You say a cheerful good-morning to his second, and bow very distantly to him.’
    â€˜And suppose he apologises?’
    â€˜Accept it quick! But he won’t.’
    The two officers in their best uniforms were strolling up and down the yellow sand, talking to an unhygienic-looking gentleman with a black beard and a black bag. Rob measured out his bows. He certainly appeared a most cool and formidable opponent. I suppose he was pretending to himself that there was a platoon behind him which had to be impressed.
    It was only seventeen minutes past twelve. I went into a huddle with the other second, comparing weapons, complaining of the ground—anything to waste time, for I could see what he was going to propose. But the moment came when I could think of no more excuses. And the police would time their arrival for a minute or two before twelve-thirty.
    â€˜Delay is so embarrassing for our principals, M. le Comte,’ he said. ‘So shall we…?’
    Rob and his opponent took off their coats and rolled up their sleeves. The surgeon wiped down the sabres with a swab. The seconds passed them on. When Rob faced his man I could see he was trying not to give him a nervous grin. The captain’s face was set and pale. For all he knew, he might be up against a master. I expect he hoped hewas. At least it would be a guarantee that he wouldn’t be run through the liver by accident.
    Rob performed his salute very well. The captain attacked instantly in a violent flèche which Rob by wild luck parried. He must have felt the experienced control of his opponent’s wrist as the points slithered in tiny semi-circles against each other, and realized there wasn’t a moment to be lost. He jumped back half a step, tapped the ground smartly with his sabre and lunged.
    I closed my eyes, I think—a split second in which to imagine the captain dead, Rob racing for the frontier and myself in the dock for aiding and abetting. The mess in reality was bad enough, before the law and from a housemaid’s point of view. Rob’s hilt was within two feet of the captain, and the steel through him between shoulder and elbow. He was so appalled—the sensation of his sabre jarring on bone—that he hadn’t yet noticed that his opponent’s curved point had ripped up six good inches of his forearm. He apologized instantly, just as for some unavoidable foul in the course of a jolly game.
    â€˜But it is I who should apologize,’ replied the captain with a startled smile, and held out his hand.
    We seconds, overcome by alarm and relief and the unconventional behaviour of our two gladiators, fluttered incompetently round them. The surgeon lost his head and kept exclaiming that it was unprecedented and that the