Few honest citizens ever ventured out at night, unless compelled to do so, and Roger knew that the only people he was likely to meet were drunken roisterers or lurking thieves, so it would be an added peril to show himself unnecessarily and there would be a certain risk in asking his way of anyone he might come upon.
The cool night air had at first refreshed him after the sickly heat of the brothel, but it now began to affect him unexpectedly, and he realised that owing to his having consumed the best part of a bottle of indifferent champagne he was now a little drunk.
Pulling himself together on the corner of the street which he had believed would bring him to the Arsenal he decided that, although it had already been dark when he left the inn with De Roubec, if he could regain the waterfront he should be able to find his way back. After trying two streets he came out on a quay and turned in what he believed to be the right direction. The faint sound of violins caught his ear and soon guided him back to the "Widow Scarron's." Giving the house a wide berth he continued onward but, having visited Monsieur Tricot's gaming-rooms before going to the brothel had confused him in his bearings, so he was now actually walking away from the inn instead of towards it.
The docks and quays of Le Havre are very extensive so he went on quite confidently for some twenty minutes before he began to suspect that he had somehow gone wrong. Now and then he had heard footsteps in the distance or seen a lurking figure momentarily emerge from the shadows, but nobody had attempted to molest him as, in the gloom, with his long sword sticking out from under the skirts of his coat he had the appearance of a well-armed, if somewhat short, man. But now he felt that he simply must chance an encounter to find out where he was and, some five minutes later, coming on a party of sailors belatedly returning to their ship, he hailed them in as gruff a voice as he could manage. To his relief, though hilariously tipsy, they proved friendly enough and gave him verbose directions how to find the Bassin Vauban.
The moon was now rising above the masts of the shipping so his long tramp back was made somewhat easier from his being able to avoid the frequent potholes among the cobbles and the heaps of stinking garbage with which the wharfs were Uttered.
At length, fairly sober again now, but tired and still seething with anger at his night's misadventures, he recognised the sign of Les Trois Fleur-de-Lys. Then, with the cessation of his own footsteps as he paused before the door he heard others, and realised that someone must have been walking along behind him. Turning, he looked in the direction from which he had come and saw a lanky figure approaching. With a fresh wave of anger he recognised De Roubec, the author of all his troubles.
After a moment the Chevalier saw him too, and his greeting showed that he was in an equally ill humour. "So 'tis you, my little cock without spurs," he remarked acidly. "Methought that failing a mother to tuck you up in bed you would have gone to spend the night in a convent."
"What the devil d'you mean?" Roger exclaimed, flushing hotly, although he knew perfectly well at what De Roubec was driving.
"You know what I mean," declared the Chevalier, mouthing his words thickly. "And a fine return you made for my interest in you. Not only do you insult a poor girl and upset a well-conducted house to which I introduced you; but by going there as my friend and behaving as you did you put a shame upon me publicly."
"If you consider that thieving rabble a public worthy of consideration, God pity you," flared Roger.
"So now you have the impudence to call in question the company I keep?"
"Yes, when 'tis composed of whores, bawds and lechers. And what blame to me if, having no stomach for such scum, I choose to leave it?" Roger was now speaking in mangled French and English but anger sent enough scarce-remembered French words to his tongue for his meaning to be clear.
"Well enough, my little anchorite," came the swift retort. "But no gentleman occupies a wench's time, then leaves his friend to pay for the dish he leaves untasted."
"I did no such thing. I gave the girl a guinea before I left her room, and that old bitch of a Madame made me disburse a further louis before they would let me out of the house."
"I find it difficult to believe that, since I am an old habitue of the place and they made me pay up on your behalf."
"D'you call me a liar?"
"What of it, if I did? You are but a tom-tit dressed in the fine feathers of a peacock, and have not the guts to tumble a woman, let alone fight a man."
"I'll not suffer being called a liar, though," Roger stormed, "I tell you I paid that trollop."
"And I tell you I did."
"Why should you have done so? 'Twas not your affair."
" 'Tis you who are calling me a liar now," cried the Chevalier furiously. "If you carried that long sword of yours as anything but an ornament, Corbleau, I'd compel you to use it I"
" 'Tis not an ornament," yelled Roger, half-mad with rage.
"In that case apologise or draw it, you ill-mannered brat!"
As De Roubec placed his hand upon the hilt of his own sword Roger's impulse to continue the violent altercation suffered a sharp check. He felt certain that the Chevalier, like himself on leaving the brothel was a little drunk, and that his own brain was still somewhat heated by the fumes of the bad wine.. It was fair enough to maintain one's own view-point in a heated argument, particularly when one felt oneself to be in the right, but very different to risk a sword-thrust through the body. De Roubec was a head taller than himself and, for all he knew, an expert swordsman; so, although he was loath to retreat absolutely he was scared enough to attempt a postponement of the issue.
"Hold!" he exclaimed. "Take thought, I beg. We cannot fight like this. If one of us were killed the other would be taken for murder. If fight we must at least proceed like gentlemen and arrange a proper duel with seconds as witnesses, in the morning."
"Who spoke of a duel," sneered De Roubec. "I'll not make myself the laughing stock of Le Havre by challenging a puppy such as you. As for killing, dismiss the thought. I mean but to cut your ears off and send them to Mou-Mou as a salve to her wounded pride. Come, draw, or I'll slice them from your head as you stand there."
Roger was aghast and realised that the Chevalier must be much drunker than he had at first thought him. Street brawls in which drunken rakes quarrelled and drew their swords upon one another without seconds, while staggering home in the small hours of the morning, were still quite common in all large cities; but De Roubec's cause for offence seemed absurdly trivial and his proposal about sending Mou-Mou her recent visitor's ears positively fantastic.
"Stop!" cried Roger, "you can't be serious. You must be drunk to talk like this of making yourself the champion of a harlot!"
"Drunk, am I?" De Roubec roared. "We'll soon see if I'm drunk or not. And if for naught else I'll slit your ears to teach you manners." Upon which he lurched forward and wrenched his blade from its scabbard.
Roger was frightened now. An exciting bout with foils in the fencing school was one thing; to fight in deadly earnest with naked steel quite another. But there was no escape. Springing back a pace he drew his sword and threw himself on guard.
The blades came together with a clash and circling round each other shimmered in the moonlight. For a moment, with added apprehension, Roger felt that the unaccustomed length of his weapon would tell against him, but he suddenly realised that not only was the fine Toledo blade much more resilient and easier to wield than he supposed, but its length cancelled out the natural advantage that De Roubec would otherwise have had from his longer reach.