V. Le Duel du Loup et Lion

"Monsieur le Cloud!" Céline observed from the divan, her eyes wide with donning comprehension.

"Indeed, Mademoiselle. You're an excellent dance partner. I thank you for the polka," the figure in the dark blue domino said, taking a deep bow.

"Is this your second, d'Argentile?" Léontin inquired, shifting his eyes from Raoul to the dark domino.

"Oui, Monsieur. I'm Olivier Mintre, Vicomte de l'Ontage, at your behest," Raoul's friend replied. "Would you name your second, Monsieur?"

"Vicomte de Chavenieu," Francois answered, stepping forward.

"Very well, then," Olivier said. "Get into position, gentlemen."

"Ah, chérie, I go off to duel for you. Men are such little boys when we want to be. Won't you wish me luck, Mademoiselle?" Raoul declared, chastely kissing her on the cheek. "You Parisian actresses are such dangerous creatures that men would die for you." Céline squirmed uncomfortably in his strong hold. He smirked at her before straightening up.

"Wait," Francois interrupted. "Are you sure you don't want to retract your earlier comments, d'Argentile? We can avoid this confrontation altogether if you recant."

"I will not," Raoul announced in finality, unclasping his black cape. Léontin did the same.

"Chavenieu," Olivier began condescendingly, "D’Argentile never refuses a duel." He smiled boyishly as Francois cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh, you're such fools," Céline remarked, propping herself up on her elbows. "Stop this nonsense."

"Your honor has been endangered Mademoiselle, and my station insulted. It cannot be helped," Léontin explained with a reserved smile, flexing his fingers on the hilt of the foil.

"Be careful, then," Céline warned.

"I wille, chéri," Raoul replied. Olivier nodded agreement.

The two combatants dressed in black advanced toward each other at the center of the room. Their seconds stood behind the duelists, and Céline lay on the divan having a full view of the scene. Foils crossed at the middle, the counts stared at each other with venom in their expressions. "Begin!" Francois declared, and the foils quickly parted.

Raoul made the first move which Léontin expertly parried. Then he tried again, aiming for Virdoisier's left side, but Léontin once more dodged the blow. The slim blades flashed and gave a satisfying twang every time they met. Léontin was now hoping to strike Raoul's face and thereby permanently scar the man. D'Argentile, sensing such a ruse, blocked Léontin's foil with an underhanded flick of his own sword. They started circling one another, slowly tracing out a curvilinear path beneath the candelabrum. Léontin raised his foil to strike, but Raoul cut him off. Gritting his teeth in determination, Léontin stepped to his left and delivered a segmented blow which started at one angle and then switched direction halfway. Not expecting such a maneuver, Raoul's knuckles reddened, and he cursed under his breath.

"He's hit," Francois observed.

"That's no wound," Olivier returned. Céline watched in stunned amazement. Léontin had done it so fast!

Scowling with intense displeasure, Raoul renewed his attempts on Léontin's left side. Smiling now, Léontin parried the blow, and stepped aside for another segmented assault. D'Argentile also stepped aside to increase the distance between his arm and Virdoisier's foil. Léontin was grinning at this point and laughing, "I've got you, d'Argentile. Oh, le loup, you fell into my little trap!" Confused, Raoul only rapidly brought his sword toward's Léontin's upper arm. At that moment, Léontin switched his foil from his right hand to his left and parried, forcefully encountering Raoul's foil which summarily flew from his fingers and landed several feet away while Léontin's blade, still progressing forward, met Raoul's right flank.

Raoul's eyes widened in shock, and he mechanically drew back. He looked down at his black shirt and felt a sticky liquid with his fingers. The wound was bleeding profusely as were the cuts on his knuckles. Olivier hurried to the injured duelist. "Raoul, Raoul!" He reached his friend holding his blue cape with which he stanched the gory flow. The blue was soon dyed a vivid purple crimson, and Raoul, weak from loss of blood, crumbled to his knees.

"Monsieur le Comte," Léontin began. "I hope this is the last time we should ever duel." He calmly handed the sanguine foil back to the white gladiator who was standing near the divan.

Raoul was breathing hard but did not answer. Olivier, still putting pressure on the gash, looked over his shoulder toward where d'Argentile's foil lay. Léontin picked up his opponent's clean blade and returned with it to the cringing count whose pallid face was pinched in pain and humiliation. The Count d'Argentile's shirt was a dull magenta color, and he looked as if he were a bloody phantom who had come to life from the banners, like some dying hunter floored by a unicorn's horn.

"Oh god," Céline said quietly, lifting herself from the divan. She wrapped her body in her scarlet domino, shivering, not from fear, but at the eerie similarity in color of her cape and the gore gushing from Raoul's side. "Oh god no."

"I'm sorry you had to witness such a thing, chérie, but I fought bravely," Raoul offered with a small smirk. Olivier sighed.

Léontin pulled on his domino. As he fastened the clasp on his left shoulder, the one Raoul was so intent on wounding, he grimaced involuntarily. Francois and Céline exchanged knowing looks before the fair soprano sang out for nearly the entire opera house to hear, "Triomphe du lion." And with that, the invisible violinist commenced playing his haunting and at the same time glorious melody, the pyrrhic notes of a final aria that was acted out in the Red Room by four masked players.

L'extrémité