Александр Дюма
Captain Paul
CHAPTER XII. – THE CHALLENGE
Do as you will, heap wrongs on wrongs upon me,
It shall not anger me – I tell thee Claudius,
Thou art enshrined in a holy circle
My foot can never pass – nor taunt, nor insult
Can e'er induce this hand to rise against thee.
Therefore be satisfied —
Once more I tell theo I will not fight with thee.
– Old Play.
On the day on which the interview between Marguerite and the Baron de Lectoure had taken place, the result of which had proved so diametrically opposed to the hopes and expectations of the young girl, on that day at four o'clock, the dinner bell recalled the baron to the castle. Emanuel did the honors of the table, for the marchioness could not leave her husband, and Marguerite had requested permission not to come down stairs. The other guests were the notary, the relations of the family, and the witnesses. The repast was a gloomy one, notwithstanding the imperturbable gaiety of Lectoure; but it was evident that by his joyous humor, so stirring that it appeared feverish, he strove to stun his own feelings. From time to time, indeed, his boisterous liveliness failed all at once, like a lamp, the oil of which is nearly extinguished, and then it suddenly burst forth again, as doth the flame when it devours its last aliment. At seven o'clock they rose from table, and went into the drawing-room. It would be difficult to form an idea of the strange aspect which the old castle then presented; the vast apartments of which were hung with damask draperies, with gothic designs, and ornamented with furniture of the times of Louis XIII. and Louis XIV.
They had been so long closed that they appeared unaccustomed to the presence of living beings. And, therefore, notwithstanding the abundance of chandeliers with which the servants had decorated the rooms, the feeble and vascillating light of the wax candles was insufficient to illuminate the vast rooms, and in which the voice resounded as under the arches of a cathedral. The small number of the guests, who were to be joined during the evening by some three or four gentlemen of the neighbourhood, increased the gloom which appeared to hover over the emblazoned columns of the castle. In the centre of one of the saloons, the same one in which Emanuel, at the moment after his arrival from Paris, had received Captain Paul, was placed a table prepared with much solemnity, on which was laid a closed portfolio, which, to the eyes of a stranger ignorant of all that was preparing, might as well have enclosed a death warrant as a marriage contract. In the midst of these grave aspects and gloomy impressions, from time to time a shrill mocking laugh would reach the ears of a group of persons whispering to each other. It proceeded from Lectoure, who was amusing himself at the expense of some good country gentlemen, without any respect for the feelings of Emanuel, upon whom a portion of his raillery necessarily recoiled. He would, however, every now and then cast an anxious glance around the room, and then a gloomy cloud would pervade his features, for he saw not either his father-in-law, or the marchioness, or Marguerite enter the room. As we have already stated, that neither of them had been present at the dinner table, and his interview with the latter had not, however careless he endeavored to appear, left him without some uneasiness with regard to the signing of the contract, which was to take place during the evening. Neither was Emanuel exempt from all anxiety, and he had just determined to go up to his sister's apartment, when in passing through one of the rooms he saw Lectoure, who made a sign to him to draw near.
"By heaven! you have come in the nick of time, my dear count," said he to him, while appearing to pay the greatest attention to a good country gentleman, who was talking to him, and of whom he seemed on terms of perfect intimacy; "here is M. de Nozay, who is relating to me some very curious things, upon my word! But do you know," continued he, turning to the narrator, "this is most admirable, and highly interesting. I also have marshes and ponds, and I must ask my steward as soon as I get to Paris, to tell me where they are situated. And do you catch many wild ducks in this way."
"An immense quantity," replied the gentleman, and with the accent of perfect simplicity, which proved that Lectoure could, without fear of detection, for some time longer sustain the conversation in the same tone.
"What, then, is this miraculous mode of sporting?" inquired Emanuel.
"Only imagine, my dear friend," replied Lectoure, with the most complete sang froid, "that this gentleman gets into the water up to his neck, – At what time of the year, may I ask, without being indiscreet?"
"In the month of December and January."
"It is impossible that any thing can be more picturesque. I was saying, then, that he gets into the water up to his neck, puts a large toadstool over his head, and conceals himself among the bulrushes. This so completely metamorphoses him that the ducks do not recognise him, and allow him to come close to them. Did you not say so?"
"As near as I am to you."
"Bah! really?" exclaimed Emanuel.
"And this gentleman kills just as many as he pleases."
"I kill them by dozens," said he, proudly, being enchanted by the attention which the two young men were paying to the recital of his exploits.
"It must be a delightful thing for your good lady, if she be fond of ducks," said Emanuel.
"She adores them," said M. de Nozay.
"I hope you will do me the honor to introduce me to so interesting a person," said Lectoure, bowing.
"Undoubtedly baron."
"I swear to you," said Lectoure, "that instantly on my return to Paris, I will speak of this sport in the king's dressing-room, and I am persuaded that his majesty himself will make a trial of it in one of his large ponds of Versailles."
"I beg your pardon, dear marquis," said Emanuel, taking Lectoure's arm, and whispering in his ear, "this is one of our country neighbors, whom we could not do otherwise than invite on so solemn an occasion."
"It requires no apology, my dear friend," said Lectoure, using the same precaution not to be heard by the party in question: "you would have been decidedly wrong had you deprived me of so amusing a companion. He is an appendage to the dower of my future wife, and I should have been greatly chagrined not to have made his acquaintance."
"Monsieur de la Jarry," said a servant, opening the door.
"A sporting companion?" said Lectoure.
"No," replied M. de Nozay; "he is a traveller."
"Ah! ah!" exclaimed Lectoure, with an accent which announced that the newly arrived personage was to be the subject of a new attack. He had hardly made the ejaculation, when the person announced entered the room, muffled up in a Polish dress, lined with fur.
"Ah! my dear La Jarry," cried Emanuel, advancing to meet him, and holding out his hand to him, "but how you are be-furred! Upon my honor, you look like the Czar Peter."
"It is," replied La Jarry, shivering, although the weather was by no means cold, "because, when one arrives from Naples – perrrrrou!"
"Ah! the gentleman has arrived from Naples," said Lectoure, joining in the conversation.
"Direct, sir."
"Did you ascend Vesuvius, sir?"
"No. I was satisfied with looking at it from my window. And then," continued the traveller, with a tone of contempt, most humiliating to the volcano, "Vesuvius is not the most curious thing that is to be seen at Naples. A mountain that smokes? my chimney does as much, when the wind is in the wrong quarter, – and besides Madame La Jarry was dreadfully alarmed at the idea of an eruption."
"But of course you visited the Grotto del Cane?" continued Lectoure.
"To what purpose?" rejoined La Jarry; "to see an animal that has vapors – give a pill to the first poodle that passes, and he will do as much. And then, Madame La Jarry has quite a passion for dogs, and it would have given her pain to witness so cruel an exhibition."
"I hope, however, that a man of science, like yourself," said Emanuel, bowing, "did not neglect the Solfatara."
"Who, I – I would not set my foot there. I can very easily imagine what three or four acres of sulphur looks like, the sole produce of which is a few millions of matches. Moreover, Madame La Jarry cannot support the odour of sulphur."
"What do you think of our new friend?" said Emanuel, leading Lectoure into the room in which the contract was to be signed.
"I know not whether it is because I saw the other first, but I decidedly prefer Nozay."
The door again opened, and the servant loudly announced, "Monsieur Paul."
"Eh!" exclaimed Emanuel, turning round.
"Who is this?" inquired Lectoure, listlessly, "another country neighbour?"
"No; this is quite another sort of person," replied Emanuel, with agitation. "How does this man dare to present himself here?"
"Ah! ah! a plebeian – eh? a common fellow, is he not? but rich, I suppose. No – a poet? musician? painter? well, I can assure you, Emanuel, that they are beginning to receive this sort of people – that accursed philosophy has confounded every thing. It cannot be helped, my dear fellow, we must courageously make up our minds to it – we have come to that. An artist sits down by a great noble, elbows him, touches the corner of his hat to him, remains seated when the other rises – they converse together on court matters – they jest, they joke, they squabble, it is bon ton though decidedly bad taste."
"You are mistaken, Lectoure," replied Emanuel; "he is neither poet, painter, or musician: he is a man to whom I must speak alone. Just lead off Nozay, while I do the same with La Jarry."
Upon this, the two young gentlemen took each of the country neighbours by the arm, and drew them away into another room, talking of shooting and travelling. The side door through which they went out, had scarcely closed upon them, when Paul appeared at the principal one. He went into the room he already knew, each corner of which concealed a door – the one led to a library, the other to the room in which he had been shut up on his first visit, awaiting the result of the conference between Marguerite and Emanuel, and then approaching the table, he remained there for a moment, looking attentively at the two doors, as though he had expected to see one of them opened. His hope was not fallacious. In a few moments, that of the library was opened, and he perceived a white form standing within it; he rushed towards it.
"Is it you, Marguerite?" said he.
"Yes," replied a trembling voice.
"Well?"
"I told him all?"
"And – "
"And in ten minutes the contract is to be signed."
"I suspected as much – he is a miserable wretch."
"What's to be done?" cried the young girl.
"Take courage, Marguerite."
"Courage – oh! it now fails me entirely."
"There is that which will restore it," said Paul, handing her a letter.
"What does this letter contain?"
"The name of the village in which you will find your son, and the name of the woman in whose house he has been concealed."
"My son! oh! you are my guardian angel," cried Marguerite, endeavoring to kiss the hand which held the paper to her.
"Silence! someone is coming – whatever may happen, you will find one at Achards."
Marguerite suddenly closed the door without replying to him, for she had heard: the sound of her brother's footsteps. Paul turned round, and went to meet him, which he did, near the table.
"I expected you at another time, sir, and in less numerous company," said Emanuel, who was the first to speak.
"It appears to me that we are alone at this moment," said Paul, glancing around the room.
"Yes, but it is here that the contract is to be signed, and in an instant this room will be full."
"But many things may be said in an instant, count."
"You are right, sir, but you must meet a man who does not require more than an instant to comprehend them."
"I am listening," said Paul.
"You spoke to me of letters," rejoined Emanuel, drawing nearer to him, and lowering his voice.
"It is true," said Paul, with the same calmness.
"You fixed a price upon those letters?"
"That is also true."
"Well, then! if you are a man of honor, for that price, for the sum enclosed in this pocket-book, you ought now to be prepared to give them up."
"Yes, sir, yes," replied Paul, "the case stood thus, as long as I believed your sister, forgetful of the vows she had made, the fault she had committed, and even the child to which she had given birth, was seconding your ambition by her perjury. Then, I thought it would be a sufficiently bitter fate for the poor child to enter upon life without a name and without a family, not to allow him to enter it without a fortune also, and I then demanded of you, it is true, that sum in exchange for the letters in my possession. But now the state of things is altered, sir. I saw your sister throw herself upon her knees before you, I heard her entreat you not to force her into this infamous marriage, and neither prayers, nor tears, nor supplications could make any impression on your heart. It is now for me, for me who hold your honor, and the honor of your family within my hands, it is for me to save the mother from despair, as I would have saved the child from penury and misery. Those letters, sir, shall be delivered to you, when you shall, upon this table, instead of signing the marriage contract of your sister with the Baron de Lectoure, sign that of Mademoiselle Marguerite d'Auray with Anatole de Lusignan."
"Never, sir, never!"
"You shall not have them, excepting on that condition, count."
"Oh! I shall, perhaps, find some mode of compiling you to return them."
"I know not any," coldly replied Paul.
"Will you, sir, deliver those letters to me!"
"Count," replied Paul, with an expression of countenance, which, under the circumstances, was perfectly inexplicable to Emanuel, "count, listen to me?"
"Will you return me those letters, sir?"
"Count – "
"Yes, or no!"
"No!" said Paul, calmly.
"Well then, sir, you wear a sword, as I do; we are both gentlemen, or rather I would believe you to be such; let us leave the house together, and one of us shall return alone, and he, being unfettered and powerful from the death of the other, shall then do as he best pleases."
"I regret I cannot accept the offer, count."
"How? you wear that uniform, that cross upon your breast, by your side that sword, and you refuse a duel."
"Yes, Emanuel, I do refuse it, because I cannot raise my sword against you, count – believe me, I entreat you."
"You cannot fight with me!"
"I cannot, upon my honor."
"You cannot fight with me, you say?"
"At this moment a person who had entered the room without being perceived, burst into a loud laugh, close behind the two young men. Paul and Emanuel turned hastily round. Lectoure was standing close to them.
"But," said Paul, pointing to Lectoure, "I can fight with him, for he is a miserable and infamous wretch."
A burning blush passed over Lectoure's features, like the reflection of a flame. He made a step towards Paul, and then stopped.
"It is well, sir," said he; "send your second to Emanuel and they can arrange this matter."
"You will understand that between us the affair is merely deferred," said Emanuel, to Paul.
"Silence!" replied Paul, "they are announcing your mother."
"Yes, silence, and to-morrow we meet again. Lectoure," added Emanuel, "let us go to receive my mother."
Paul looked silently at the young men as they retired, and then he entered the small room in which he had before been concealed.
CHAPTER XIII. – THE CONTRACT
Listen to me and heed me!
If this contract
Thou holdst me to, abide thou the result!
Answer to heaven for what I suffer! act!
Prepare thyself for such calamity
To fall on me, and those whose evil
Have linked them with me, as no past mishap,
However rare and marvellously Sad,
Can parallel.
Knowles – The Hunchback.
At the moment that Paul went into the study, the marchioness appeared at the door of the drawing-room, followed by the notary, and the several persons who had been invited to be present at the signing of the contract. Notwithstanding the nature of the meeting, the marchioness had not considered it proper to lay aside, even for one evening, her mourning garments, and dressed in complete black, as she had been always during twenty years, she came into the room a few moments before the marquis. None of the persons present, not even his son, had seen the marquis for many years. Such attention was in those days paid to ancient forms, that the marchioness would not allow the marriage contract of her daughter to be signed, without the head of the family, although deprived of reason, being present; at the ceremony. However little accustomed Lectoure was to feel intimidated, the marchioness produced upon him the effect which she did on every one that approached her, and on seeing her enter the room with so grave and dignified an aspect, he bowed to her with a feeling of profound respect.
"I am grateful to you, gentlemen," said the marchioness, bowing to the persons who accompanied her, "for the honor you have been pleased to confer upon me, by being present at the betrothal of Mademoiselle Marguerite d'Auray, with the Baron de Lectoure. I, in consequence, was desirous that the marquis, although suffering from illness, should also be present at this meeting, to thank you at least by his presence, if he cannot do so verbally. You are all aware of his unfortunate malady, and you will, therefore, not be astonished, should some disjointed words – "
"Yes, madam," said Lectoure, interrupting her, "we know the misfortune which has befallen him, and we admire the devoted wife, who for twenty years has borne half the weight of this sad visitation."
"You see, madam," said Emanuel, addressing in his turn, and kissing the hand of his mother, "all the world bows down in admiration of your conjugal piety."
"Where is Marguerite?" murmured the marchioness, in a hair whisper.
"She was here not a moment ago," said Emanuel. "Let her know that we are all assembled," rejoined the marchioness, in the same tone.
A servant then announced "the Marquis d'Auray." All present drew to one side, so as to leave free passage from the door, and all eyes were directed to the spot at which this new personage was to appear. It was not long before their curiosity was satisfied; the marquis came in almost immediately, supported by two servants.
He was an old man, whose countenance, notwithstanding that the traces of suffering had deeply furrowed it, still retained that noble and dignified appearance which had rendered him one of the most distinguished men of the court of Louis XV. His large, hollow, and feverish eyes, glanced around the assembly with a strange expression of astonishment. He was dressed in his costume of Steward of the Household, wore the order of the Holy Ghost suspended from his neck, and that of St. Louis, at his button hole. He advanced slowly, and without uttering a word. The two servants led him forward amid the most profound silence, to an arm-chair, in which he seated himself, and the servants left the room. The marchioness then placed herself at his right hand. The notary opened the portfolio, drew from it the marriage contract and read it aloud. The marquis and the marchioness made over the sum of five hundred thousand francs to Lectoure, and gave a like sum to Marguerite, as her dowry.
During the whole of the time occupied by the reading of the contract, the marchioness, notwithstanding her great self command, had betrayed some symptoms of uneasiness. But just at the moment when the notary had placed the contract open on the table, Emanuel returned and approached his mother.
"And Marguerite?" said the marchioness.
"She will be here instantly."
"Madam," murmured Marguerite, half opening the door, and clasping her hands.
The marchioness pretended not to hear her, and pointed with her finger at the pen.
"Baron, it is you who are first to sign."
Lectoure immediately approached the table and signed the contract.
"Madam!" cried Marguerite, in a tone of supplication, and advancing one step toward her mother.
"Pass the pen to your betrothed, Baron," said the marchioness.
The Baron walked round the table, and drew near to Marguerite.
"Madam!" again cried the latter, with an accent so melancholy, that it struck to the heart of every person present, and even the marquis himself raised his head.
"Sign!" said the marchioness, pointing to the marriage contract.
"Oh! my father! my father!" exclaimed Marguerite throwing herself at the feet of the marquis.
"What does this mean?" said the marchioness, leaning upon the arm of the marquis' chair, and bending over him, "are you mad, mademoiselle?"
"My father! oh! my father!" again cried Marguerite, throwing her arms around him, "my father, have pity, save your daughter!"
"Marguerite!" murmured the marchioness, in a threatening accent.
"Madam!" replied Marguerite, "I cannot address myself to you – permit me, then, to implore my father's pity; unless," she added, pointing to the notary with a firm and determined gesture, "you would prefer my invoking the protection of the law."
"Come, come," said the marchioness, rising, and in a tone of bitter irony, "this is a family scene, and which, although highly interesting to near relations, must be sufficiently tedious to strangers. Gentlemen, you will find refreshments in the adjoining rooms. My son, conduct these gentlemen, and do the honors. Baron, I must beg your pardon for a short time." Emanuel and Lectoure bowed in silence and withdrew, followed by all the company. The marchioness remained motionless until the last of them had withdrawn, and then she closed all the doors leading into the room, when, returning to the marquis, whom Marguerite still held clasped in her arms.
"And now," said she, "that there is no one present excepting those who have the right to lay their commands upon you, sign that paper, mademoiselle, or leave the room."
"For pity's sake, madam, for pity's sake, do not compel me to commit so infamous an act!"
"Have you not heard me?" said the marchioness, giving to her voice an imperative tone, which she thought impossible to be resisted, "or must I repeat my words? 'Sign, or leave the room.'"
"Oh! my father!" cried Marguerite, "mercy! mercy! No, it shall not be said, that after having been banished from my father's presence for ten years, I was torn from his arms the first time I again beheld him – and that, before he had recognized me, before he has embraced me. Oh! father! father! – it is I, it is your daughter!"
"What is that voice that is imploring me?" murmured the marquis. "Who is this child who calls me father?"
"That voice," said the marchioness, seizing the arm of her daughter, "is a voice that is raised against the rights of nature. That child is a rebellious daughter."
"My father!" cried Marguerite imploringly, "look at me. Oh! my father, save me I defend me! I am Marguerite."
"Marguerite? Marguerite?" stammered the marquis, "I had formerly a child of that name."
"It is I! it is I!" rejoined Marguerite: "I am your child – I am your daughter."
"There are no children but those who obey. Obey! and you will then have the right to call yourself our daughter," rejoined the marchioness.
"To you, my father, yes, – to you I am ready to obey. But you do not command this sacrifice! you do not wish that I should be unhappy – unhappy even to despair – unhappy even to death."
"Come! come!" said the marquis holding her in his turn, and pressing her to his heart. "Oh! this is a delicious and unknown feeling to me. And now – wait! wait!" He pressed his hand to his forehead. "It seems to me that I recollect."
"Sir!" cried the marchioness, "tell her that she ought to obey; that the malediction of God awaits rebellious children. Tell her that, rather than to encourage her in her impiety!"
The marquis slowly raised his head, and fixed his piercing eyes upon his wife, and then slowly pronounced the following words: "Take care! madam, take care. Have I not told you that I begin to remember!" and then again bending down his head to that of Marguerite, so that his grey hairs mingled with the dark tresses, of his daughter – "Speak – speak!" said he, "what is it that disturbs you, my child – tell me all."
"Oh! I am most unhappy!"
"Everybody, then, is unhappy here," exclaimed the marquis, "whether their hair be grey or black – an old man or a child.. Oh! and I also – I am unhappy – be assured.
"Sir, go up stairs into your room again: you must," said the marchioness.
"Yes, that I may again be face to face with you; shut up like a prisoner! That may be very well, when I am mad."
"Yes, yes, my father, you are right. My mother has devoted herself to you long enough; it is now time that your daughter should perform that duty. Take me with you, father. I will not leave you day or night. You will only have to make a sign, to utter a word, and I will serve you on my knees."
"Oh! you would not have the strength to do it."
"Yes, yes, my father, I will – as truly as I am your daughter."
The marchioness wrung her hands with impatience.
"If you are my daughter, how is it that I have not seen you for ten years?"
"Because I was told that you would not see me, my father; because they told me that you did not love me."
"You were told that I would not see you – not see that angel face!" said he, taking her head between his hands, and looking at her with intense auction; "they told you that – they told you that a poor condemned soul did not wish for heaven! Who was it, then, that told you a father would not see his child? Who has dared to say, child, your father loves you not?"
"I! – " said the marchioness, again endeavoring to take Marguerite from her father's arms.
"You!" exclaimed the marquis, interrupting her: "it was you? To you then, has been confided the fatal mission of deceiving me in all my affections. All my griefs, then, must find their source in you? You wish, then, now to break the father's heart, as twenty years ago, you did that of the husband."
"You are delirious, sir," said the marchioness, loosing the arm of her daughter; and going to the right of the marquis, she whispered – "be silent!"
"No, madam, no, I am not now delirious," replied the marquis, "No! no! Say rather, say that, – and it will be the truth, – say that I am now between an angel who would recall me to reason, and a demon who wishes me again to become insane. No! No! I am not mad. Do you wish that I should prove it to you?" He rose, supporting himself on the arms of his chair. "Must I speak to you of letters, of adultery, of a duel?"
"I say," said the marchioness, grasping his arm, "I tell you that you are more forsaken by heaven than ever, when you utter such things, without reflecting as to whose ears are listening. Cast down your eyes, sir – look who is standing yonder, and then dare assert that you are not mad!"
"You are right;" said the marquis, falling back in his chair. "Your mother is right," continued he, addressing Marguerite – "I am mad, and you must not believe what I say, but what she says. Your mother is devotedness, virtue itself, and therefore, she has not sleepless nights, nor remorse, nor madness. What does your mother wish?"
"My misery, father; my everlasting misery."
"And how can I prevent this misery?" said the unhappy old man, with a most heart-rending anguish; "how can I, a poor, insane old man, prevent it? who thinks he always sees the blood issuing from a wound – who thinks he constantly hears a voice proceeding from a tomb!"
"Oh you can do all; say but one word and I am saved! They wish me to marry – "
The marquis listlessly reclined his head on the back of his chair.
"Listen to me! they wish to marry me to a man whom I do not love – do you understand me? – to a wretch! – and you have been brought here – placed in that arm-chair, before the table – you, you my father! to sign this infamous contract – this contract which I now hand to you."
"Without consulting me," said the marquis, taking the contract; "without asking me whether I will, or I will not! Do they believe me dead? And if they think me dead, do they fear me less than they would a spectre? This marriage would cause your misery, you say?"
"My eternal misery!" exclaimed Marguerite. "The marriage, then, shall not take place."
"I have pledged your word and mine," said the marchioness, and with the more energy, that she felt her influence over her husband about to escape her.
"This marriage, I tell you, shall not take place!" replied the marquis, in a tone louder than that of his wife. "It is too dreadful a thing," continued he, in a gloomy sepulchral tone, "to be permitted. A marriage in which a wife loves not her husband – why, it causes madness! As to myself, the marchioness has always loved me, and loved me faithfully – that which drove me mad – oh! that was a different matter."
A flash of diabolical joy shot from the eyes of the marchioness, for she at once saw from the violence of the expressions used by her husband, and the terror depicted on his features, that his insanity was about to return.
"This contract," said the marquis, and he raised it in his hands as if about to tear it.
The marchioness eagerly caught his hand. Marguerite appeared to be hanging by a thread between heaven and hell.
"That which drives me mad!" reiterated the marquis, "is a tomb which widely opens, a spectre that issues from the earth, it is a phantom that speaks to me, and says – "
"Your life is in my hands!" murmured the marchioness in his ear, repeating the last words of the dying Morlaix: "I could take it."
"Do you hear that?" cried the marquis, rising, and as if about to rush from the room.
"My father! oh! my father! recall your senses; there is no tomb, there is no spectre, there is no phantom; those words were uttered by the marchioness."
"But I wish you to live," continued the latter, concluding the sentence she had begun, "to forgive me as I forgive you."
"Pardon, Morlaix, pardon!" cried the marquis, falling back in his arm-chair, his hair standing on end with terror, and the perspiration streaming from his forehead.
