Albert grabbed his hat and left, barely containing his anger. He found his carriage waiting and drove straight to the newspaper office, a dim, dusty space that looked like every journalist’s workplace since the beginning of ti, cluttered with ink-stained desks and the faint sll of old paper.
The receptionist announced him. Beauchamp, clearly surprised, called out, "Send him in!"
Albert burst through the door, scattering newspapers across the floor with aggressive strides, his breath still sharp from the ride.
"This way, Albert!" Beauchamp said, extending his hand with forced cheerfulness. "Have you lost your mind, or are you here for a friendly breakfast? Find a seat, there’s one by that potted plant, the only living thing in this paper graveyard."
"I’m here about your newspaper," Albert said coldly, fixing Beauchamp with a hard stare.
"Oh? What about it?"
"I want a correction published."
"Regarding what? Please, sit down."
"I’ll stand, thank you." Albert’s bow was stiff and formal.
"What exactly has displeased you?"
"You published sothing that attacks my family’s honor."
Beauchamp’s surprise seed genuine. "You must be mistaken. Baptiste! Yesterday’s paper!"
"I brought my own copy." Albert slapped it on the desk.
Beauchamp read the marked passage quietly, then looked up. "This is serious. Is this officer a relative of yours?"
"Yes," Albert said, his face flushing.
"What would you like to do?"
"Contradict the statent. Imdiately."
Beauchamp’s expression softened. "A retraction is a serious matter. It requires careful consideration. Sit down, let read it again."
Albert reluctantly sat while Beauchamp reread the article more carefully, his brow tightening with each line as the weight of the accusations settled more heavily between them.
"Well?" Albert demanded. "Your paper insulted my family. I’m demanding a retraction."
"You’re demanding?"
"Yes."
"You’re not in parliant, Viscount."
"And I don’t want to be!" Albert stood again. "I’m telling you plainly: retract yesterday’s statent. You’ve known long enough," his lips trembled, "you’ve been my friend. You know I don’t back down."
"If I’m your friend, your current tone makes question that friendship. But let’s not lose our tempers yet. Tell , how is this Fernand related to you?"
"He’s my father," Albert said quietly. "Fernand Mondego, Count of Morcerf. A soldier who fought in twenty battles, whose honorable scars you’re treating as marks of sha."
Beauchamp’s deanor changed. "Your father? That’s different. I understand your anger now. Let look again."
He read the article a third ti, emphasizing each word.
"But the paper doesn’t identify this Fernand as your father," he said finally.
"Others will make the connection. That’s why I need the retraction."
At the words "I need," Beauchamp looked up sharply, then lowered his gaze, thinking.
"Will you retract it, Beauchamp?" Albert’s anger was barely suppressed.
"Yes," Beauchamp said.
"Imdiately?"
"When I’m convinced the statent is false."
"What?"
"This requires investigation. I need to verify the facts."
"Investigate?" Albert’s voice rose. "If you don’t believe it’s my father, say so now! If you do believe it, tell why!"
Beauchamp’s smile held multiple anings. "Sir, if you ca here to challenge to a duel, you should have said so directly instead of wasting half an hour. Is that your intention?"
"Yes, if you won’t retract that vicious lie!"
"No threats, please, Monsieur Fernand Mondego, Viscount of Morcerf. I don’t accept them from enemies, much less from friends. You’re insisting I contradict the article about General Fernand, an article I had nothing to do with?"
"Yes, I insist!"
"And if I refuse, you want to fight?"
"Yes!"
"Very well. Here’s my answer: I didn’t write that article. I wasn’t even aware of it. But now that you’ve brought it to my attention, it will remain until soone with actual authority confirms or contradicts it."
Albert stood. "I’ll send my seconds to arrange the ti and place."
"Certainly."
"Tonight or tomorrow at the latest."
"No." Beauchamp shook his head. "I’ll et you at the proper ti, but as the challenged party, I set the terms. The ti shouldn’t be yet. You’re skilled with a sword, I’m rely adequate. You’re a good shot, we’re roughly equal there. A duel between us would be serious because we’re both brave. I don’t want to kill you or die without cause. So I’ll ask you directly: will you kill if I don’t retract this, even though I’ve told you repeatedly I knew nothing about it? Even though only you could possibly connect the Count of Morcerf with this Fernand?"
"I stand by my position."
"Fine. I’ll duel you. But I need three weeks. At the end, I’ll tell you either ’The statent is false, and I retract it,’ or ’The statent is true’, and then we draw weapons."
"Three weeks!" Albert exploded. "That’s an eternity when I’m living in dishonor!"
"If we were still friends, I’d say ’Be patient.’ But since you’ve made yourself my enemy, I say ’Why should I care?’"
"Fine. Three weeks. But no delays or excuses after that-"
"Monsieur Albert de Morcerf," Beauchamp stood, "I can’t throw you out the window for three weeks, twenty-four days, to be precise, and you can’t crack my skull until then. Today is August 29th. September 21st will be our deadline. Until then, and this is a gentleman’s advice, let’s refrain from snarling at each other like chained dogs, no matter how strongly our tempers flare."
He bowed coldly, turned his back, and walked into the bustling printing room.
Albert vented his fury on a pile of newspapers, scattering them violently with his walking stick. The pages fluttered across the floor like startled birds, but the small chaos did nothing to soothe his temper. He stord toward his carriage, whipping it in frustration as he’d done to the papers, the leather reins snapping sharply in the air.
Crossing through the city gate, he spotted Morrel walking briskly with bright, cheerful eyes, apparently heading from one district toward another, his entire bearing radiating calm purpose.
"There goes a happy man," Albert muttered bitterly, resentnt tightening his jaw.
And for once, his observation was entirely correct.
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