1 Napoleon I, whose career had the quality of a duel against the whole of Europe, disliked dueling between the officers of his army. The great military emperor was not a swashbuckler and had little respect for tradition. Nevertheless, a story of dueling which became a legend in the army runs through the epoch of imperial wars. To the surprise and admiration of their fellows, two officers, like insane artists trying to guild refined gold or paint the lily, pursued their private contest through the years of universal carnage. They were officers of cavalry and their connection with a high-spirited but fanciful animal which carries men into battle seems particularly appropriate. It would be difficult to imagine for heroes of this legend two officers of infantry of the line, for example, whose fantasy is tamed by much walking exercise, and whose valor necessarily must be of a more plodding kind. As to artillery were engineers whose heads are kept cool on a diet of mathematics, it is simply unthinkable. The names of the two officers were Ferod and Duber, and they were both lieutenants in a regiment of hasars, but not in the same regiment. Ferod was doing regimental work, but Lieutenant Duber had the good fortune to be attached to the person of the general commanding the division as officier d'ordonnance. It was in Strasbourg, and in this agreeable and important garrison they were enjoying greatly a short interval of peace. They were enjoying it, though both intensely warlike, because it was a sword-sharpening, fire-lock-cleaning peace, dear to a military heart, and undamaging to military prestige in as much that no one believed in its sincerity or duration. Under those historical circumstances so favourable to the proper appreciation of military leisure, Lieutenant Duber could have been seen one fine afternoon making his way along the street of a cheerful suburb towards Lieutenant Ferod's quarters, which were in a private house with a garden at the back, belonging to an old maiden-lady. His knock at the door was answered instantly by a young maid in Alsatian costume. Her fresh complexion and her long eyelashes, which she lowered modestly at the side of the tall officer, caused Lieutenant Duber, who was accessible to aesthetic impressions, to relax the cold, on-duty expression of his face. At the same time he observed that the girl had over her arm a pair of Hussar's breeches, red with a blue stripe. "'Lieutenant Ferod at home?' he inquired benevolently. "'Oh, no, sir, he went out at six this morning.' And the little maid tried to close the door, but Lieutenant Duber, opposing this move with gentle firmness, stepped into the ante-room, jingling his spurs. "'Come, my dear, you don't mean to say he has not been home since six o'clock this morning?' During these words Lieutenant Duber opened without ceremony the door of a room so comfortable and neatly ordered that only from internal evidence in the shape of boots, uniforms, and military accoutrements did he acquire the conviction that it was Lieutenant Ferod's room. And he saw also that Lieutenant Ferod was not at home. The truthful maid had followed him and looked up inquisitively. "'Hm!' said Lieutenant Duber, greatly disappointed, for he had already visited all the haunts where a Lieutenant of Hussars could be found of a fine afternoon. "'And do you happen to know, my dear, why he went out at six this morning?' "'No,' she answered readily. He came home late at night and snored. I heard him when I got up at five. Then he dressed himself in his oldest uniform and went out. Service, I suppose.' "'Service! Not a bit of it!' cried Lieutenant Duber. "'Learn, my child, that he went out so early to fight a duel with a civilian.' She heard the news without a quiver of her dark eyelashes. It was very obvious that the actions of Lieutenant Ferod were generally above criticism. She only looked up for a moment in mute surprise, and Lieutenant Duber concluded from this absence of emotion that she must have seen Lieutenant Ferod since the morning. He looked around the room. "'Come,' he insisted, with confidential familiarity. He's perhaps somewhere in the house now.' She shook her head. So much the worse for him continued Lieutenant Duber in a tone of anxious conviction. But he has been home this morning. This time the pretty maid nodded slightly. "'He has,' cried Lieutenant Duber, and went out again. What for? Did he keep quietly indoors? What a lunatic! My dear child!' Lieutenant Duber's natural kindness of disposition and strong sense of comradeship helped his powers of observation, which generally were not remarkable. He changed his tone to a most insinuating softness, and gazing at the Hussar's breeches hanging over the arm of the girl, he appealed to the interests she took in Lieutenant Ferod's comfort and happiness. He was pressing and persuasive. He used his eyes, which were large and fine, with excellent effect. His anxiety to get hold at once of Lieutenant Ferod, for Lieutenant Ferod's own good, seemed so genuine that at last it overcame the girl's discretion. Unluckily she had not much to tell. Lieutenant Ferod had returned home shortly before ten, had walked straight into his room and had thrown himself on his bed to resume his slumbers. She had heard him snore rather louder than before, far into the afternoon. Then he got up, put on his best uniform, and went out. That was all she knew. She raised her candid eyes up to Lieutenant Duber, who stared at her incredulously. It's incredible! Gone parading the town in his best uniform! My dear child, don't you know that he ran that civilian through this morning? Clean through as you spit a hair! She accepted this gruesome intelligence without any signs of distress, but she pressed her lips together thoughtfully. He isn't parading the town, she remarked in a low tone, far from it. The civilian's family is making in an awful row, continued Lieutenant Duber, pursuing his train of thought. And the general is very angry. It's one of the best families in the town. Ferod ought to have kept close at least. What will the general do to him? inquired the girl anxiously. He won't have his head cut off to be sure, answered Lieutenant Duber. But his conduct is positively indecent. He's making no end of trouble for himself by this sort of bravado. But he isn't parading the town. The maid murmured again. Why, yes, now I think of it. I haven't seen him anywhere. What on earth has he done with himself? He's gone to pay a call, suggested the maid after a moment of silence. Lieutenant Duber was surprised. A call? Do you mean a call on a lady? The cheek of the man! But how do you know this? Without concealing her woman scorned for the denseness of the masculine mind, the pretty maid reminded him that Lieutenant Ferod had arrayed himself in his best uniform before going out. He had also put on his newest doleman, she added in a tone as, if this conversation was getting on her nerves, and turned away brusquely. Lieutenant Duber, without questioning the accuracy of the implied deduction, did not see that it advanced him much on his official quest. For his quest after Lieutenant Ferod had an official character. He did not know any of the women this fellow who had run a man through in the morning was likely to call on in the afternoon. The two officers knew each other but slightly. He bit his gloved finger in perplexity. Call! he exclaimed. Call on the devil! The girl, with her back to him and folding the Hussar's breeches on a chair, said with a vexed little laugh. Oh, no! Ah, Madame de Lyon! Lieutenant Duber whistled softly. Madame de Lyon, the wife of a high official, had a well-known salon and some pretensions to sensibility and elegance. The husband was a civilian and old, but the society of the salon was young and military for the greater part. Lieutenant Duber had whistled not because the idea of pursuing Lieutenant Ferod into that very salon was in the least distasteful to him, but because having but lately arrived in Strasbourg, he had not had the time as yet to get an introduction to Madame de Lyon. But what was that swashbuckler Ferod doing there? He did not seem the sort of man who— Are you certain of what you say? asked Lieutenant Duber. The girl was perfectly certain. Without turning round to look at him, she explained that the coachmen of their next-door neighbors knew the maître d'hôtel of Madame de Lyon. In this way she got her information, and she was perfectly certain. In giving this assurance she sighed. Lieutenant Ferod called there nearly every afternoon. Ah, bah! exclaimed Duber ironically. His opinion of Madame de Lyon went down several degrees. Lieutenant Ferod did not seem to him specially worthy of attention on the part of a woman with a reputation for sensibility and elegance. But there was no saying. At bottom they were all alike, very practical rather than idealistic. Lieutenant Duber, however, did not allow his mind to dwell on these considerations. By thunder, he reflected aloud, the general goes there sometimes. If he happens to find the fellow making eyes at the lady, there will be the devil to pay. Our general is not a very accommodating person, I can tell you.  Don't stand here now!  Thanks, my dear! I don't know what I would have done without you. After manifesting his gratitude in an aggressive way, which at first was repulsed violently and then submitted to with a sudden and still more repellent indifference, Lieutenant Duber took his departure. He clanked and jingled along the streets with a marshal's swagger. To run a comrade to earth in a drawing-room where he was not known did not trouble him in the least. A uniform is a social passport. His position as officier d'Ordinance of the general added to his assurance. Moreover, now he knew where to find Lieutenant Ferolde, he had no option. It was a service matter. The man did Lyon's house had an excellent appearance. A man in livery opening the door of a large drawing-room with a waxed floor shouted his name and stood aside to let him pass. It was a reception day. The ladies wearing hats surcharged with the perfusion of feathers, sheathed and clinging white gowns from their armpits to the tips of their low satin shoes, looked silk-like and cool in a great display of bare necks and arms. The men who talked with them on the contrary were arrayed heavily in ample colored garments with stiff collars up to their ears and thick sashes round their waists. Lieutenant Duber made his unabashed way across the room and bowing low before a silk-like form reclining on a couch, offered his apologies for this intrusion, which nothing could excuse but the extreme urgency of the service order he had to communicate to his comrade, Ferod. He proposed to himself to come presently in a more regular manner and beg forgiveness for interrupting this interesting conversation. A bare arm was extended to him with gracious condescension even before he had finished speaking. He pressed the hand respectfully to his lips and made the mental remark that it was bony. Madame de Lyon was a blonde with too fine a skin and a long face. C'est ça, she said with an ethereal smile, disclosing a set of large teeth. Come this evening to plead for your forgiveness. I will not fail, Madame. Meantime, Lieutenant Ferod, splendid in his new doleman and the extremely polished boots of his calling, sat on a chair within a foot of the couch, and, one hand propped on his thigh, with the other twirled his mustache to a point without uttering a sound. At a significant glance from Dubeir he rose without alacrity and followed him into the recess of a window.  He asked in a tone of annoyance, which astonished not a little the other. Lieutenant Dubeir could not imagine that in the innocence of his heart and simplicity of his conscience Lieutenant Ferod took a view of his duel in which neither remorse nor yet a rational apprehension of consequences had any place. Though Lieutenant Ferod had no clear recollection how the quarrel had originated, it was begun in an establishment where beer and wine are drunk late at night. He had not the slightest doubt of being himself the outraged party. He had secured two experienced friends as his seconds. Everything had been done according to the rules governing that sort of adventure, and a duel is obviously fought for the purpose of someone being at least hurt if not killed outright. The civilian got hurt. That also was in order. Lieutenant Ferod was perfectly tranquil, but Lieutenant Dubeir mistook this simple attitude for affectation and spoke with some heat. I am directed by the general to give you the order to go at once to your quarters and remain there under close arrest. It was now the turn of Lieutenant Ferod to be astonished.  He murmured faintly, and fell into such profound wonder that he could only follow mechanically the motions of Lieutenant Dubeir. The two officers, one tall, with an interesting face and a mustache the color of ripe corn, the other short and sturdy, with a hooked nose and a thick crop of black curly hair, approached the mistress of the house to take their leave. Madame de Lyon, a woman of eclectic taste, smiled upon these armed young men with impartial sensibility and an equal share of interest. Madame de Lyon took her delight in the infinite variety of the human species. All the eyes in the drawing-room followed the departing officers, one strutting, the other striding with curiosity. When the door had closed after them, one or two men who had already heard of the duel imparted the information to the sylph-like ladies, who received it with little shrieks of humane concern. Meantime the two hasars walked side by side. Lieutenant Ferod trying to fathom the hidden reason of things which in this instance eluded the grasp of his intellect. Lieutenant Dubeir feeling bored by the part he had to play, because the general's instructions were that he should see personally that Lieutenant Ferod carried out his orders to the letter and at once. The chief seems to know this animal. He thought, eyeing his companion, whose round face, the round eyes, and even the twisted-up, jet-black little mustache seemed animated by his mental exasperation before the incomprehensible, and allowed he observed rather reproachfully, the general is in a devilish fury with you. Lieutenant Ferod stopped short, on the edge of the pavement, and cried in the accents of unmistakable sincerity, What on Earth For? The innocence of the fiery Gaskin soul was depicted in the manner in which he seized his head in both his hands as if to prevent it bursting with perplexity. For the duel, said Lieutenant Dubeir curtly, he was annoyed greatly by this sort of perverse fooling. The duel! The— Lieutenant Ferod passed from one paroxysm of astonishment into another. He dropped his hands and walked on slowly, trying to reconcile this information with the state of his own feelings. It was impossible. He burst out indignantly. Was I to let that sauerkraut-eating civilian wipe his boots on the uniform of the seventh Hussars? Lieutenant Dubeir could not be altogether unsympathetic toward that sentiment. This little fellow is a lunatic, he thought to himself, but there is something in what he says. Of course I don't know how far you were justified, he said soothingly, and the general himself may not be exactly informed. A lot of people have been deafening him with their lamentations. Ah! he is not exactly informed. Mummel Lieutenant Ferod, walking faster and faster as his collar at the injustice of his fate began to rise. He is not exactly, and he orders me under close arrest with God knows what afterward. Don't excite yourself like this, remonstrated the other, that young man's people are very influential, you know, and it looks bad enough on the face of it. The general had to take notice of their complaint at once. I don't think he means to be oversevere with you. It is best for you to be kept out of sight for a while. I am very much obliged to the general, muttered Lieutenant Ferod through his teeth. And perhaps you would say I ought to be grateful to you, too, for the trouble you have taken to hunt me up in the drawing-room of a lady who, frankly, interrupted Lieutenant Tubert with an innocent laugh. I think you ought to be. I had no end of trouble to find out where you were. It wasn't exactly the place for you to disport yourself in, under the circumstances. If the general had caught you there making eyes at the goddess of the temple, oh, my word!  The two officers had arrived now at the street-door of Lieutenant Ferod's lodgings. The latter turned towards his companion. Lieutenant Tubert, he said, I have something to say to you which can't be said very well in the street. You can't refuse to come in. The pretty maid had opened the door. Lieutenant Ferod brushed past her brusquely, and she raised her scared, questioning eyes to Lieutenant Tubert, who could do nothing but shrug his shoulders slightly as he followed with marked reluctance. In his room Lieutenant Ferod unhooked the clasp, flung his new dolmen on the bed, and, folding his arms across his chest, turned to the other hasar. Do you imagine I am a man to submit tamely to injustice? Are you damned to be inquired in a boisterous voice? Oh, do be reasonable,' remonstrated Lieutenant Tubert. I am reasonable, I am perfectly reasonable, retorted the other, ominously lowering his voice. I can't call the general to account for his behavior, but you are going to answer to me for yours.' I can't listen to this nonsense. Remember, Lieutenant Tubert, slightly contemptuous grimace.  It seems to me perfectly clear, unless you don't understand French."  A profound silence followed this mad declaration, and through the open window, Lieutenant Dubeir heard the little birds singing sanely in the garden. He said coldly, "'Why, if you take that tone, of course I will hold myself at your disposal whenever you are at liberty to attend to this affair, but I don't think you will cut off my ears.' "'I am going to attend to it at once,' declared Lieutenant Farod, with extreme truculance. "'If you are thinking of displaying your heirs and graces to-night in Madame de Lyon's Salon, you are very much mistaken.' "'Really?' said Lieutenant Dubeir, who was beginning to feel irritated.  The General's orders to me were to put you under arrest, not to carve you into small pieces. Good morning.' Turning his back on the little gaskin who, always sober in his potations, was as though born intoxicated, with the sunshine of his wine-ripening country, the Northman, who could drink hard on occasion, but was born sober under the watery skies of Picardy, made calmly for the door. Hearing, however, the unmistakable sound behind his back, of a sword drawn from the scabbard, he had no option but to stop. "'Devil take this mad Southerner!' he thought, spinning round and surveying with composure the warlike posture of Lieutenant Ferrode with the unsheath sword in his hand. "'At once, at once!' stuttered Ferrode beside himself. "'You had my answer,' said the other, keeping his temper very well. At first he had been only vexed and somewhat amused, but now his face got clouded. He was asking himself seriously how he could manage to get away. Obviously it was impossible to run from a man with a sword, and as to fighting him it seemed completely out of the question. He waited a while, then said exactly what was in his heart. "'Drop this. I won't fight you now. I won't be made ridiculous.' "'Ah, you won't!' hissed the gaskin. "'I suppose you prefer to be made infamous. Do you hear what I say?' "'Infamous! Infamous! Infamous!' he shrieked, raising and falling on his toes and getting very red in the face. Lieutenant Dubeir, on the contrary, became very pale at the sound of the unsavory word, then flushed pink to the roots of his fair hair. "'But you can't go out to fight.  "'There's the garden.  "'We will never get any of our comrades to serve as seconds. It's preposterous.' "'Seconds? Damn the seconds! We don't want any seconds. Don't you worry about any seconds. I will send word to your friends to come and bury you when I am done. This is no time to waste. "'And if you want any witnesses, I'll send word to the old girl to put her head out of a window at the back. Stay. There's the gardener. He'll do.  Come along. I will teach you, my staff officer, that the caring about of a general's orders is not always child's play.' "'While thus discourse is in the hands of the old girl, I will teach you my staff officer, that the caring about of a general's orders is not always child's play.' "'While thus discourseing he had unbuckled his empty scabbard, he sent it flying under the bed, and lowering the point of the sword, brushed past the perplexed lieutenant dubert, crying, "'Follow me!' Directly he had flung open the door, a faint shriek was heard, and the pretty maid, who had been listening at the key-hole, staggered backward, putting the backs of her hands over her eyes. He didn't seem to see her, but as he was crossing the ante-room, she ran after him and seized his left arm. He shook her off, and then she rushed upon lieutenant dubert, and clawed at the sleeve of his uniform. "'Ratchet man!' she sobbed despairingly. "'Is this what you wanted to find him for?' "'Let me go!' intreated lieutenant dubert, trying to disengage himself gently. "'It's like being in a madhouse!' he protested with exasperation. "'Do let me go! I won't do him any harm!' A fiendish laugh from lieutenant ferrode commented that assurance. "'Come along!' he cried impatiently, with a stamp of his foot. And lieutenant dubert did follow. He could do nothing else. But in vindication of his sanity it must be recorded that as he passed out of the ante-room, the notion of opening the street-door and bolting out, presented itself to this brave youth, only of course to be instantly dismissed, for he felt sure that the other would pursue him without shame or compunction. And the prospect of an officer of hasars being chased along the street by another officer of hasars with a naked sword could not be for a moment entertained. Therefore he followed into the garden. Behind them the girl tottered out, too, with ashy lips and wild and scared eyes she surrendered to a dreadful curiosity. She had also a vague notion of rushing, if need be, between lieutenant ferrode and death. The death-gardener, utterly unconscious of approaching footsteps, went on watering his flowers to lieutenant ferrode, thumped him on the back. Beholding suddenly an infuriated man flourishing a big sabre, the old chap trembling at all his limbs dropped the watering-pot. At once lieutenant ferrode kicked it away with great animosity, then seizing the gardener by the throat, backed him against the tree and held him there shouting in his ear, "'Stay here and look on! You understand you've got to look on. Don't dare budge from the spot!' Lieutenant Dubeir came slowly down the walk, unclasped his dolmen with undisguised reluctance. Even then, with his hand already on his sword, he hesitated to draw, till a roar, "'Ungard, fiktra! What do you think you came here for?' And the rush of his adversary forced him to put himself as quickly as possible in a posture of defence. The angry clash of arms filled that prim garden which hitherto had known no more warlike sound than the click of clipping-shears, and presently the upper part of an old lady's body was projected out of a window upstairs. She flung her arms above her white cap and began scolding in a thin, cracked voice.  She did not rush between the combatants. The onslaughts of Lieutenant Farod were so fierce that her heart failed her. Lieutenant Dupère, his faculties concentrated upon defence, needed all his skill and science of the sword to stop the rushes of his adversary. Twice already he had had to break ground. It bothered him to feel his foothold made insecure by the round, dry gravel of the path rolling under the hard soles of his boots. This was most unsuitable ground, he thought, keeping a watchful, narrowed gaze shaded by long eyelashes upon the fiery, staring eyeballs of his thick-set adversary. This absurd affair would ruin his reputation of a sensible, steady, promising young officer. It would damage at any rate his immediate prospects and lose him the good will of his general. These worldly preoccupations were no doubt misplaced in view of the solemnity of the moment. For a duel whether regarded as a ceremony and a cult of honour, or even when regrettably casual and reduced in its moral essence to a distinguished form of manly sport demands perfect singleness of intention, a homicidal austerity of mood. On the other hand this vivid concern for the future in a man occupied in keeping sudden death at sword's length from his breast had not a bad effect in as much as it began to rouse the slow anger of Lieutenant Dubeyre. Some seventy seconds had elapsed since they had crossed steel and Lieutenant Dubeyre had to break ground again in order to avoid impaling his reckless adversary like a beetle for a cabinet of specimens. The result was that, misapprehending the motive, Lieutenant Ferrode, giving vent to triumphant snarls, pressed his attack with renewed vigor. This enraged animal, thought to bear, will have me against the wall directly. He imagined himself much closer to the house than he was, and he dared not turn his head, such an act under the circumstances being equivalent to deliberate suicide. It seemed to him that he was keeping his adversary off with his eyes much more than with his point. Lieutenant Ferrode crouched and bounded with a tigerish, ferocious agility enough to trouble the stoutest heart. But what was more appalling than the fury of a wild beast accomplishing in all innocence of heart a natural function was the fixity of savage purpose man alone is capable of displaying. Lieutenant Dubeyre in the midst of his worldly preoccupations perceived it at last. It was an absurd and damaging affair to be drawn into. But whatever silly intention the fellow had started with, it was clear that by this time he meant to kill nothing else. He meant it with an intensity of will utterly beyond the inferior faculties of a tiger. As is the case with constitutionally brave men, the full view of the danger interested Lieutenant Dubeyre, and directly he got properly interested, the length of his arm and the coolness of his head told in his favour it was the turn of Lieutenant Ferrode to recoil. He did this with a blood-curdling grunt of baffled rage. He made a swift faint and then rushed straight forward. Ah! you would, would you? Lieutenant Dubeyre exclaimed mentally to himself. The combat had lasted nearly two minutes, time enough for any man to get embittered apart from the merits of the quarrel. And all at once it was over. Trying to close breast to breast under his adversary's guard, Lieutenant Ferrode received a slash on his shortened arm. He did not feel it in the least, but it checked his rush, and his feet slipping on the gravel he fell backward with great violence. The shocked jarred his boiling brain into the perfect quietude of insensibility. Simultaneously with his fall the pretty servant-girl shrieked piercingly, but the old maiden-lady at the window ceased her scolding, and with great presence of mind began to cross herself.  The impression of having slashed hard enough to cut his man clean in two abode with him for a while in an exaggerated impression of the right goodwill he had put into the blow. He went down on his knees by the side of the prostrate body, discovering that not even the arm was severed, a slight sense of disappointment mingled with the feeling of relief. But indeed he did not want the death of that sinner. The affair was ugly enough as it stood. Lieutenant Dubeyre addressed himself at once to the task of stopping the bleeding. In this task it was his fate to be ridiculously impeded by the pretty maid. The girl, filling the garden with cries for help, flung herself upon his defenseless back, and twining her fingers in his hair tugged at his head. Why she should choose to hinder him at this precise moment he could not in the least understand. He did not try. It was all like a very wicked and harassing dream. Twice to save himself from being pulled over, he had to rise and throw her off. He did this stoically, without a word, kneeling down again at once to go on with his work. But when the work was done he seized both her arms and held them down.  He looked mildly into them while she called him a wretch, a traitor, and a murderer, many times in succession. This did not annoy him so much as the conviction that in her scurries she had managed to scratch his face abundantly. Ritikule would be added to the scandal of the story. He imagined it making its way through the garrison, through the whole army, with every possible distortion of motive and sentiment and circumstance, spreading a doubt upon the sanity of his conduct and the distinction of his taste even into the very bosom of his honourable family. It was all very well for that fellow Ferod, who had no connections, no family to speak of, and no quality but courage which, anyhow, was a matter of course, and possessed by every single trooper in the whole mass of French cavalry. Still holding the wrists of the girl in a strong grip, Lieutenant Dubair looked over his shoulder. Lieutenant Ferod had opened his eyes. He did not move. Like a man just waking from a deep sleep he stared with a drowsy expression at the evening sky. Lieutenant Dubair's urgent shouts to the old gardener produced no effect, not so much as to make him shut his toothless mouth. Then he remembered that the man was stone deaf. All that time the girl, attempting to free her wrists, struggled not with maidenly coiness but like a sort of pretty dumb fury, not even refraining from kicking his shins now and then. He continued to hold her as if in a vice, his instinct telling him that were he to let her go she would fly at his eyes. But he was greatly humiliated by his position. At last she gave up, more exhausted than appeased, he feared. Nevertheless he attempted to get out of this wicked dream by way of negotiation. "'Listen to me,' he said as calmly as he could. Will you promise to run for a surgeon if I let you go?' He was profoundly afflicted when, panting, sobbing, and choking, she made it clear that she would do nothing of the kind. On the contrary, her incoherent intentions were to remain in the garden and fight with her nails and her teeth for the protection of the prostrate man. This was horrible. "'My dear child,' he cried in despair, "'is it possible that you think me capable of murdering a wounded adversary?  She struggled. A thick, sleepy voice said behind him, "'What are you up to with that girl?' Lieutenant Ferrode had raised himself on his good arm. He was looking sleepily at his other arm, at the mess of blood on his uniform, at a small red pool on the ground, at his sabre lying a foot away on the path. Then he laid himself down gently again, to think it all out as far as a thundering headache would permit of mental operations. Lieutenant Dubeyre released the girl's wrists. She flew away down the path and crouched wildly by the side of the vanquished warrior. The shades of night were falling on the little trim garden with this touching group, wence-proceeded low murmurs of sorrow and compassion with other feeble sounds of a different character as if an imperfectly awake invalid were trying to swear. Lieutenant Dubeyre went away, too exasperated to care what would happen. He passed through the silent house and congratulated himself upon the dust concealing his gory hands and scratched face from the passers-by. But this story could by no means be concealed. He dreaded the discredit and ridicule above everything, and was painfully aware of sneaking through the back streets to his quarters. In one of these quiet side streets the sounds of a flute coming out of the open window of a lighted upstairs room in a modest house interrupted his dismal reflections. It was being played with a deliberate persevering virtuosity, and through the fiorature of the tune one could even hear the thump of the foot beating time on the floor. Lieutenant Dubeyre shouted a name which was that of an army surgeon whom he knew fairly well. The sounds of the flute ceased, and the musician appeared at the window, his instrument still in his hand, peering into the street. Who calls? You, Dubeyre! What brings you this way? He did not like to be disturbed when he was playing the flute. He was a man whose hair had turned gray already, and the thankless task of tying up wounds on battlefields where others reaped advancement and glory. I want you to go at once and see Farod. You know Lieutenant Farod? He lives down the second street. It's but a step from here. What's the matter with him? Wounded. Are you sure? Sure! cried Dubeyre. I come from there. That's amusing! said the elderly surgeon. Amusing was his favorite word, but the expression of his face when he pronounced it never corresponded. He was a stolid man. Come in! he added. I'll get ready in a moment. Thanks! I will. I want to wash my hands in your room. Lieutenant Dubeyre found the surgeon occupied in unscrewing his flute and packing the pieces methodically in a velvet-lined case. He turned his head. Water there in the corner. Your hands do want washing! I've stopped the bleeding, said Lieutenant Dubeyre, but you had better make haste. It's rather more than ten minutes ago, you know. The surgeon did not hurry his movements. What's the matter? Dressing came off? That's amusing. I've been busy in the hospital all day, but somebody has told me that he hadn't a scratch. Not the same duel, probably. Growled moodily, Lieutenant Dubeyre, wiping his hands on a coarse towel. Not the same—what? Another? It would take the very devil to make me go out twice in one day. He looked narrowly at Lieutenant Dubeyre. How did you come by that scratched face? Both sides, too, and symmetrical. It's amusing. Very, snarled Lieutenant Dubeyre, and you will find his slashed arm amusing, too. It will keep both of you amused for quite a long time. The doctor was mystified and impressed by the brusque bitterness of Lieutenant Dubeyre's tone. They left the house together and in the street he was still more mystified by his conduct. Aren't you coming with me? He asked. No, said Lieutenant Dubeyre. You can find the house by yourself. The front door will be open very likely. All right, where's his room? Ground floor, but you had better go right through and look in the garden first. This astonishing piece of information made the surgeon go off without further delay. Lieutenant Dubeyre regained his quarters nursing a hot and uneasy indignation.  He felt as though he had been entrapped into a damaging exposure. The truth was confoundedly grotesque and embarrassing to justify. Putting aside the irregularity of the combat itself which made it come dangerously near a criminal offence, like all men without much imagination which is such a help in the processes of reflective thought, Lieutenant Dubeyre became frightfully harassed by the obvious aspects of his predicament. He was certainly glad that he had not killed Lieutenant Ferrode outside all rules and without the regular witnesses proper to such a transaction. Uncommonly glad. At the same time he felt as though he would have liked to wring his neck for him without ceremony. He was still under the sway of these contradictory sentiments when the surgeon amateur of the flute came to see him. More than three days had elapsed. Lieutenant Dubeyre was no longer officier d'autonomne to the general commanding the division. He had been sent back to his regiment. And he was resuming his connection with the soldier's military family by being shut up in close confinement not at his own quarters in town, but in a room in the barracks. Owing to the gravity of the incident he was allowed to see no one. He did not know what had happened, what was being said or what was being thought. The arrival of the surgeon was a most unexpected event to the worried captive. The amateur of the flute began by explaining that he was there only by a special favour of the Colonel who had thought fit to relax the general isolation order for this one occasion. I represented to him that it would be only fair to give you authentic news of your adversary. He continued. You'll be glad to hear he's getting better fast. Lieutenant Dubeyre's face exhibited no conventional signs of gladness. He continued to walk the floor of the dusty barr room. Take this chair, doctor, he mumbled. The doctor sat down. This affair is variously appreciated in town and in the army. In fact, the diversity of opinions is amusing. Is it? Mumble, Lieutenant Dubeyre, tramping steadily from wall to wall. But within himself he marvelled that there could be two opinions on the matter. The surgeon continued. Of course, as the real facts are not known, I should have thought, interrupted Dubeyre, that the fellow would have put you in possession of the facts. He did say something, admitted the other, the first time I saw him, and by the by I did find him in the garden. The thump on the back of his head had made him a little incoherent then. Afterwards he was rather reticent than otherwise. I don't think he would have the grace to be ashamed, grunted Dubeyre, who had stood still for a moment. He resumed his pacing while the doctor murmured. It's very amusing. Ashamed? Shame was not exactly his frame of mind. However, you may look at the matter otherwise. What are you talking about? What matter? Asked Dubeyre with a side-on look at the heavy-faced, gray-haired figure seated on a wooden chair. Whatever it is, said the surgeon, I wouldn't pronounce an opinion on your conduct. By heaven, you had better not, burst out Dubeyre. There, there, don't be so quick in flourishing the sword. It doesn't pay in the long run. Understand once for all that I would not carve any of you youngsters except with the tools of my trade. But my advice is good. Moderate your temper.  Go on like what? Demanded Lieutenant Dubeyre, stopping short quite startle. I, I, make for myself a reputation. What do you imagine? I told you I don't wish to judge of the rights and wrongs of this incident. It's not my business. Nevertheless, what on earth has he been telling you? Interrupted Lieutenant Dubeyre in a sort of odd scare. I told you already that at first when I picked him up in the garden he was incoherent. Afterwards he was naturally reticent. But I gather at least that he could not help himself. He couldn't! shouted Lieutenant Dubeyre, then lowering his voice. And what about me? Could I help myself? The surgeon rose. His thoughts were running upon the flute, his constant companion, with a consoling voice. In the vicinity of field ambulances, after twenty-four hours hard work, he had been known to trouble with its sweet sounds the horrible stillness of battlefields given over to silence and the dead. The solacing hour of his daily life was approaching, and in peacetime he held on to the minutes as a miser to his hoard. Of course, of course, he said perfunctorily. You would think so. It's amusing. However, being perfectly neutral and friendly to you both, I have consented to deliver his message. Say that I am humoring and invalid, if you like. He says that this affair is by no means at an end. He intends to send you his seconds directly his regained his strength, providing of course the army is not in the field at that time. He intends, does he? Why, certainly! spluttered Lieutenant Dubeyre passionately. The secret of this exasperation was not apparent to the visitor, but this passion confirmed him in the belief which was gaining ground outside that some very serious difference had arisen between these two young men. Something serious enough to wear an air of mystery. Some fact of the utmost gravity. To settle their urgent difference these two young men had risked being broken and disgraced at the outset almost of their career, and he feared that the forthcoming inquiry would fail to satisfy the public curiosity. They would not take the public into their confidence as to that something which had passed between them of a nature so outrageous as to make them face a charge of murder, neither more nor less. But what could it be? The surgeon was not very curious by temperament, but that question haunting his mind caused him twice that evening to hold the instrument off his lips and sit silent for a whole minute, right in the middle of a tune, trying to form a plausible conjecture. CHAPTER 2 He succeeded in this object no better than the rest of the garrison and the whole of society. The two young officers, of no special consequence till then, became distinguished by universal curiosity as to the origin of their quarrel. Madame de Lyon's salon was the center of ingenious surmises. That lady herself was, for a time, assailed with inquiries as the last person known to have spoken to these unhappy and reckless young men before they went out together from her house to a savage encounter with swords at dusk in a private garden. She protested she had noticed nothing unusual in their demeanor. Lieutenant Ferrode had been visibly annoyed at being called away. That was natural enough. No man likes to be disturbed in a conversation with a lady famed for her elegance and sensibility. But in truth the subject bored Madame de Lyon since her personality could by no stretch of imagination be connected with this affair. And it irritated her to hear it advanced that there might have been some woman in the case. This irritation arose not from her elegance or sensibility, but from a more instinctive side of her nature. It became so great at last that she preemptorily forbade the subject to be mentioned under her roof. Near her couch the prohibition was obeyed, but farther off in the salon the pall of the imposed silence continued to be lifted more or less. A diplomatic personage with a long pale face resembling the countenance of a sheep, opined, shaking his head, that it was a quarrel of longstanding inventum'd by time. It was objected to him that the men themselves were too young for such a theory to fit their proceedings. They belonged also to different and distant parts of France. A sub-comissary of the intendants, an agreeable and cultivated bachelor in Kaiser Mier Breaches, Hessian Boots, and a blue coat embroidered with silver lace, who affected to believe in the transmigration of souls, suggested that the two had met perhaps in some previous existence. The feud was in the forgotten past. It might have been something quite inconceivable in the present state of their being, but their souls remembered the animosity and manifested an instinctive antagonism. He developed his theme jocularly. Yet the affair was so absurd from the worldly, the military, the honourable, or the prudential point of view that this weird explanation seemed rather more reasonable than any other. The two officers had confided nothing definite to any one. Resentment, humiliation at having been worsted, arms and hand, and an uneasy feeling of having been involved into a scrape by the injustice of fate, kept Lieutenant Farod savagely dumb. He mistrusted the sympathy of mankind, that would of course go to that dandified staff officer. Lying in bed, he raved to himself in his mind, or allowed to the pretty maid who ministered to his needs with devotion and listened to his horrible implications with alarm. That Lieutenant Dubec should be made to pay for it, whatever it was, seemed to hurt just and natural. Her principal concern was that Lieutenant Farod should not excite himself. He appeared so wholly admirable and fascinating to the humility of her heart, that her only concern was to see him get well quickly, even if it were only to resume his visits to Madame de Lyon's salon.  But he was not anxious for the opportunities of which his severe arrest deprived him. He would have been incommunicative from dread of ridicule. He was aware that the episode, so grave professionally, had its comic side. When reflecting upon it he still felt that he would like to ring Lieutenant Farod's neck for him. But this formula was figurative, rather than precise, and expressed more a state of mind than an actual physical impulse. At the same time there was in that young man a feeling of comradeship and kindness which made him unwilling to make the position of Lieutenant Farod worse than it was. He did not want to talk at large about this wretched affair. At the inquiry he would have, of course, to speak the truth in self-defense, this prospect vexed him. But no inquiry took place. The army took the field instead. Lieutenant Dubec, liberated without remark, returned to his regimental duties, and Lieutenant Farod, his arms still in a sling, rode unquestioned with his squadron to complete his convalescence in the smoke of battlefields and the fresh air of night bivouacs. This bracing treatment suited his case so well that at the first rumor of an armistice being signed he could turn without misgivings to the prosecution of his private warfare. This time it was to be regular warfare. He dispatched two friends to Lieutenant Dubec, whose regiment was stationed only a few miles away. Those friends had asked no questions of their principal. I must pay him off that pretty staff officer. He had said grimly, and they went away quite contentedly on their mission. Lieutenant Dubec had no difficulty in finding two friends equally discreet and devoted to their principal. There's a sort of crazy fellow to whom I must give another lesson, he had curtly declared, and they asked for no better reasons. On these grounds an encounter with dueling swords was arranged one early morning in a convenient field. At the third set to, Lieutenant Dubec found himself lying on his back on the dewy grass with a hole in his side. A serene sun rising over a German landscape of meadows and wooded hills hung on his left. A surgeon, not the flute player but another, was bending over him, feeling around the wound. Narrow squeak, but it will be nothing, he pronounced. Lieutenant Dubec heard these words with pleasure.  You'd better make it up like two good fellows. Do. You don't know what you ask, remembered Lieutenant Dubec in a feeble voice. However, if he— In another part of the meadow the seconds of Lieutenant Ferrode were urging him to go over and shake hands with his adversary. You've paid him off now? Que te habla? It is the proper thing to do. This dubert is a decent fellow. I know the decency of these generals' pets, muttered Lieutenant Ferrode through his teeth for all answer. The somber expression of his face discouraged further efforts at reconciliation. The seconds, bowing from a distance, took their men off the field. In the afternoon, Lieutenant Dubec, very popular as a good comrade, uniting great bravery with a frank and equal temper, had many visitors. It was remarked that Lieutenant Ferrode did not, as customary, show himself much abroad to receive the felicitations of his friends. They would not have failed him, because he too was liked for the exuberance of his southern nature and the simplicity of his character. In all the places where officers were in the habit of assembling at the end of the day, the duel of the morning was talked over from every point of view. Though Lieutenant Dubec had got worsted this time, his sword play was commended. No one could deny that it was very close, very scientific. If he got touched, some said, it was because he wished to spare his adversary. But by many the vigor and dash of Lieutenant Ferrode's attack were pronounced irresistible. The merits of the two officers as combatants were frankly discussed, but their attitude to each other after the duel was criticized lightly and with caution. It was irreconcilable, and that was to be re-readed. After all, they knew best what the care of their honor dictated. It was not a matter for their comrades to pry into over much. As to the origin of the quarrel, the general impression was that it dated from the time they were holding garrison in Strasbourg. Only the musical surgeon shook his head at that. It went much farther back, he hit it discreetly. Why, you must know the whole story! cried several voices, eager with curiosity. You were there! What was it? He raised his eyes from his glass deliberately and said, Even if I knew ever so well, you can't expect me to tell you, since both the principals choose to say nothing. He got up and went out, leaving the sense of mystery behind him. He could not stay longer because the witching-hour of flute-playing was drawing near. After he had gone, a very young officer observed solemnly. Obviously, his lips are sealed. Nobody questioned the high propriety of that remark. Somehow it added to the impressiveness of the affair. Several older officers of both regiments, prompted by nothing but sheer kindness and love of harmony, proposed to form a court of honor to which the two officers would leave the task of their reconciliation. Unfortunately, they began by approaching Lieutenant Farod. The assumption was that, having just scored heavily, he would be found placable and disposed to moderation. The reasoning was sound enough. Nevertheless, the move turned out unfortunate. In that relaxation of moral fiber which is brought about by the ease of soothed vanity, Lieutenant Farod had condescended in the secret of his heart to review the case, and even to doubt not the justice of his cause but the absolute sagacity of his conduct. This being so, he was disinclined to talk about it. The suggestion of the regimental wise men put him in a difficult position. He was disgusted, and this disgust by a sort of paradoxical logic reawakened his animosity against Lieutenant Tuber. Was he to be pestered with this fellow for ever? The fellow who had an infernal neck of getting round people somehow? On the other hand it was difficult to refuse point blank that sort of mediation sanctioned by the Code of Honor. Lieutenant Farod met the difficulty by an attitude of fierce reserve. He twisted his mustache and used vague words. His case was perfectly clear. He was not ashamed to present it. Neither was he afraid to defend it personally. He did not see any reason to jump at the suggestion before ascertaining how his adversary was likely to take it. Later in the day, his exasperation growing upon him, he was heard in a public place saying sardonically that it would be the very luckiest thing for Lieutenant Tuber since next time of meeting he did not hope to get off with a mere trifle of three weeks in bed. This boastful phrase might have been prompted by the most profound Machiavellism. Southern natures often hide under the outward impulsiveness of action and speech a certain amount of astuteness. Lieutenant Farod, mistrusting the justice of men, by no means desired a Court of Honor. And these words, according so well with his temperament, had also the merit of serving his turn. Whether meant for that purpose or not, they found their way in less than four and twenty hours into Lieutenant Tuber's bedroom. In consequence, Lieutenant Tuber, sitting propped up with pillows, received the overtures made to him next day by the statement that the affair was of a nature which could not bear discussion. The pale face of the wounded officer, his weak voice which he had yet to use cautiously, and the courteous dignity of his tone, had a great effect on his hearers, reported outside all this did more for deepening the mystery than the vaporings of Lieutenant Farod. This last was greatly relieved at the issue. He began to enjoy the state of general wonder and was pleased to add to it by assuming an attitude of moody reserve. The colonel of Lieutenant Tuber's regiment was a gray-haired, weather-beaten warrior who took a simple view of his responsibilities. I can't, he thought to himself, let the best of my subalterns get damaged like this for nothing. I must get to the bottom of this affair privately. He must speak out if the devil were in it. The colonel should be more than a father to these youngsters. And indeed he loved all his men with as much affection as a father of a large family can feel for every individual member of it. If human beings by an oversight of providence came into the world in the state of civilians, they were born again into a regiment as infants are born into a family, and it was that military birth alone which really counted. At the sight of Lieutenant Tuber standing before him, bleached and hollow-eyed, the heart of the old warrior was touched with genuine compassion. All his affection for the regiment, that body of man which he held in his hand to launch forward and draw back, who had given him his rank, ministered to his pride and commanded his thoughts, seemed centered for a moment on the person of the most promising subaltern. He cleared his throat in a threatening manner and frowned terribly. You must understand, he began, that I don't care a rep for the life of a single man in the regiment.  Yes, Colonel, you would be riding at our head, said Lieutenant Tuber with a wan smile. The Colonel, who felt the need of being very diplomatic, fairly roared at this. I want you to know, Lieutenant Tuber, that I could stand aside and see you all riding to Hades, if need be. I am a man to do even that if the good of the service and my duty to my country required it from me. But that's unthinkable, so don't you even hint at such a thing? He glared awfully, but his voice became gentle. There's some milk yet about that moustache of yours, my boy.  I would hide behind a haystack if— Don't grin at me, sir.  If this were not a private conversation, I would— Look here. I am responsible for the proper expenditure of lives under my command, for the glory of our country and the honour of the regiment. Do you understand that? Well, then, what the devil do you mean by letting yourself be spitted like this by that fellow of the Seventh Hussars? It's simply disgraceful. Lieutenant Tuber, who expected another sort of conclusion, felt vexed beyond measure. His shoulders moved slightly. He made no other answer. He could not ignore his responsibility. The Colonel softened his glance and lowered his voice. It's deplorable, he murmured. And again he changed his tone. Come, he went on persuasively, but with that note of authority which dwells in the throat of a good leader of men, this affair must be settled. I desire to be told plainly what it is all about. I demand, as your best friend, to know. The compelling power of authority, the softening influence of the kindness, affected deeply a man just risen from a bed of sickness. Lieutenant Tuber's hand, which grasped the knob of a stick, trembled slightly. But his northern temperament, sentimental but cautious and clear-sided too in its idealistic way, predominated over his impulse to make a clean breast of the whole deadly absurdity.  He made then only a speech of thanks, nothing more. The Colonel listened, interested at first, then looked mystified. At last he frowned. You hesitate. Miltoneer! Haven't I told you that I will condescend to argue with you as a friend? Yes, Colonel," answered Lieutenant Tuber softly, but I am afraid that after you have heard me out as a friend you will take action as my superior officer. The attentive Colonel snapped his jaws. Well, what of that, he said frankly. Is it so damnably disgraceful? It is not. Negative, Lieutenant Tuber, in a faint but resolute voice. Of course I shall act for the good of the service. Nothing can prevent me doing that. What do you think I want to be told for? I know it is not from idle curiosity, tested Lieutenant Tuber. I know you will act wisely. But what about the good fame of the regiment? It cannot be affected by any youthful folly of a lieutenant," the Colonel said severely. No it cannot be, but it can be by evil tongues. It will be said that a lieutenant of the Fourth Hussars, afraid of meeting his adversary, is hiding behind his Colonel. And that would be worse than hiding behind a haystack for the good of the service. I cannot afford to do that, Colonel. Nobody would dare to say anything of the kind, the Colonel beginning very fiercely, and on an uncertain note. The bravery of Lieutenant Tuber was well known, but the Colonel was well aware that the dueling courage, the single combat courage, is, rightly or wrongly, supposed to be courage of a special sort, and it was eminently necessary that an officer of his regiment should possess every kind of courage, and prove it too. The Colonel stuck out his lower lip and looked far away with a peculiar glazed stare. This was the expression of his perplexity, an expression practically unknown to his regiment, for perplexity is a sentiment which is incompatible with the rank of Colonel of Cavalry. The Colonel himself was overcome by the unpleasant novelty of the sensation, as he was not accustomed to think except on professional matters connected with the welfare of men and horses and the proper use thereof on the field of glory, his intellectual efforts degenerated into mere mental repetitions of profane language. Militarnere, sacré nom de nom, he thought. Lieutenant Tuber coughed painfully and went on, in a weary voice. There will be plenty of evil tongues to say I've been cowed, and I am sure you will not expect me to pass that sort of thing over. I may find myself suddenly with a dozen duels on my hands instead of this one affair. The direct simplicity of this argument came home to the Colonel's understanding. He looked at his subordinate fixedly. Sit down, Lieutenant, he said gruffly. This is the very devil of a—sit down. Mon Colonel. Dubert began again.  There's a way of silencing them. But there's my peace of mind, too. I wouldn't be able to shake off the notion that I've ruined a brother officer. Whatever action you take, it is bound to go further. The inquiry has been dropped. Let it rest now. It would have been the end of Farod. Hey! What? Did he behave so badly? Yes, it was pretty bad. Muttered Lieutenant Dubert. Being still very weak, he felt a disposition to cry. As the other man did not belong to his own regiment, the Colonel had no difficulty in believing this. He began to pace up and down the room. He was a good chief, and a man capable of discreet sympathy. But he was human in other ways, too, and they were apparent because he was not capable of artifice. The very devil, Lieutenant—he blurted out in the innocence of his heart—is that I have declared my intention to get to the bottom of this affair. And when a Colonel says something, you see— Lieutenant Dubert broke in earnestly. Let me entreat you, Colonel, to be satisfied with taking my word of honour that I was put into a damnable position where I had no option. I had no choice whatever, consistent with my dignity as a man and an officer. After all, Colonel, this fact is the very bottom of this affair. Here you've got it. The rest is a mere detail. The Colonel stopped short. The reputation of Lieutenant Dubert for a good sense and good temper weighed in the balance. A cool head, a warm heart, open as the day. Always correct in his behaviour. One had to trust him. The Colonel repressed manfully and immense curiosity. Hmm! You affirm that as a man and an officer—no option, eh? As an officer, an officer of the Fourth Hussars, too, repeated Lieutenant Dubert, I had not, and that is the bottom of the affair, Colonel. Yes, but still I don't see why to one's Colonel a Colonel is a father. Que diabla! Lieutenant Dubert ought not to have been allowed out as yet. He was becoming aware of his physical insufficiency with humiliation and despair, but the morbid obstinacy of an invalid possessed him, and at the same time he felt, with dismay, his eyes filling with water. This trouble seemed too big to handle. A tear fell down the thin pale cheek of Lieutenant Dubert. The Colonel turned his back on him hastily. You could have heard a pin drop. This is some silly woman's story, is it not? The chief spun round to seize the truth, which is not a beautiful shape living in a well, but a shy bird best caught by stratagem. This was the last move of the Colonel's diplomacy, and he saw the truth shining unmistakably in the gesture of Lieutenant Dubert, raising his weak arms and his eyes to heaven in supreme protest. Not a woman affair, eh? growled the Colonel, staring hard. I don't ask you who or where. All I want to know is whether there is a woman in it. Lieutenant Dubert's arms dropped, and his weak voice was pathetically broken. Nothing of the kind, Colonel. On your honour, insisted the old warrior. On my honour. Very well, said the Colonel thoughtfully, and bit his lip. The arguments of Lieutenant Dubert, helped by his liking for the person, had convinced him. Yet it was highly improper that his intervention, of which he had made no secret, should produce no visible effect. He kept Lieutenant Dubert a little longer, and dismissed him kindly. Take a few days more, in bed, Lieutenant. What the devil does the surgeon mean by reporting you fit for duty? On coming out of the Colonel's quarters, Lieutenant Dubert said nothing to the friend who was waiting outside to take him home. He said nothing to anybody. Lieutenant Dubert made no confidences, but in the evening of that day the Colonel, strolling under the alms growing near his quarters, in the company of his second-in-command, opened his lips. I've got to the bottom of this affair, he remarked. The Lieutenant Colonel, a dry-brown chip of a man, with short side-whiskers, pricked up his ears without letting a sound of curiosity escape him. It's no trifle, added the Colonel orracularly. The other waited for a long while before he murmured, Indeed, sir. No trifle, repeated the Colonel, looking straight before him. I've, however, forbidden Dubert either descend to or receive a challenge from Farod for the next twelve months. He had imagined this prohibition to save the prestige a Colonel should have. The result of it was to give an official seal to the mystery surrounding this deadly quarrel. Dubert, repelled by an impassive silence, all attempts to worm the truth out of him. Lieutenant Farod, secretly uneasy at first, regained his assurance as time went on. He disguised his ignorance of the meaning of the imposed truce by little sardonic laughs, as though he was amused by what he intended to keep to himself. But what will you do? his chums used to ask him. He contented himself by replying, Quivivre vera, with a truculent air, and everybody admired his discretion. Before the end of the truce, Lieutenant Dubert got his promotion. It was well-earned, but somehow no one seemed to expect the event. When Lieutenant Farod heard of it at a gathering of officers, he muttered through his teeth. Is that so? Unhooking his sword from a peg near the door, he buckled it on carefully and left the company without another word. He walked home with measured steps, struck a light with his flint and steel, and lit his tallow candle. Then, snatching an unlucky glass tumbler off the metal piece, he dashed it violently on the floor. Now that Dubert was an officer of a rank superior to his own, there could be no question of a duel. Neither could send nor receive a challenge without rendering himself amenable to a court-martial. It was not to be thought of. Lieutenant Farod, who for many days now had experienced no real desire to meet Lieutenant Dubert arms in hand, chafed at the systematic injustice of fate. Does he think he will escape me in that way? He thought indignantly. He saw in it an intrigue, a conspiracy, a cowardly maneuver. That colonel knew what he was doing. He had hastened to recommend his pet for promotion. It was outrageous that a man should be able to avoid the consequences of his acts in such a dark and tortuous manner. Of a happy-go-lucky disposition, of a temperament more pugnacious than military, Lieutenant Farod had been content to give and receive blows for sheer love of armed strife and without much thought of advancement. But after this disgusting experience an urgent desire of promotion sprang up in his breast. This fighter, by vocation, resolved in his mind to seize showy occasions and to court the favourable opinion of his chiefs like a mere whirling. He knew he was as brave as any one and never doubted his personal charm. It would be easy, he thought. Nevertheless neither the bravery nor the charm seemed to work very swiftly. Lieutenant Farod's engaging, careless treculence of a beau-sableur underwent a change. He began to make bitter illusions to clever fellows who sticked nothing to get on. The army was full of them, he would say. You had only to look round. And all the time he had in view, one person only, his adversary to bear. Once he confided to an appreciative friend, you see, I don't know how to fawn on the right sort of people. It isn't in me. He did not get his step until a week after Austerlitz. The light cavalry of the Grande Armée had its hands very full of interesting work for a little while, but directly the pressure of professional occupation had been eased by the armistice. Captain Farod took measures to arrange a meeting without loss of time. I know his tricks, he observed grimly. If I don't look sharp he will take care to get himself promoted over the heads of a dozen better men than himself. He's got the knack of that sort of thing. This duel was fought in Silesia. If not fought out to a finish it was, at any rate, fought to a standstill. The weapon was the cavalry-saber, and the skill, the science, the vigor, and the determination displayed by the adversaries compelled the outspoken admiration of the beholders. It became the subject of talk on both shores of the Danube, and as far south as the garrisons of Gratz and Leibach. They crossed blades seven times. Both had many slight cuts, mere scratches which bled profusely. Both refused to have the combat stopped time after time, with what appeared the most deadly animosity. This appearance was caused on the part of Captain Dubeir by a rational desire to be done once for all with this worry, on the part of Farod by a tremendous exaltation of his pocknacious instincts and the rage of wounded vanity. At last disheveled their shirts in rags, covered with gore and hardly able to stand. They were carried forcibly off the field by their marvelling and horrified seconds. Later on, besieged by Comrade's avid of details, these gentlemen declared that they could not have allowed that sort of hacking to go on. Asked whether the quarrel was settled this time, they gave it out as their conviction that it was a difference which could only be settled by one of the party's remaining lifeless on the ground. The sensation spread from army to army corps and penetrated at last to the smallest detachments of the troops canton between the Rhine and the Sov. In the cafes in Vienna where the masters of Europe took their ease it was generally estimated from details to hand that the adversaries would be able to meet again in three weeks' time on the outside. Something really transcendental in the way of dueling was expected. These expectations were brought to naught by the necessities of the service which separated the two officers. No official notice had been taken of their quarrel. It was now the property of the army and not to be meddled with lightly. But the story of the duel, or rather their dueling propensities, must have stood somewhat in the way of their advancement, because they were still captains when they came together again during the war with Prussia. Detached north after Jena with the army commanded by Marshal Bernadotte, prince of Ponte Corvo, they entered Lubeck together. It was only after the occupation of that town that captain Farod had leisure to consider his future conduct in view of the fact that captain Dubeir had been given the position of third-aid-to-cup to the Marshal. He considered a great part of a night, and in the morning summoned two sympathetic friends. I've been thinking it over calmly. He said, gazing at them with bloodshot, tired eyes. I see that I must get rid of that intriguing personage. Here he's managed to sneak on to the personal staff of the Marshal. It's a direct provocation to me. I can't tolerate a situation in which I am exposed any day to receive an order through him. And God knows what order, too. That sort of thing has happened once before, and that's once too often. He understands this perfectly. Never fear. I can't tell you more than this. Now go. You know what it is you have to do. This encounter took place outside the town of Lubeck, on very open ground selected with special care in deference to the general sense of the cavalry division belonging to the Army Corps, that this time the two officers should meet on horseback. After all, this duel was a cavalry affair, and to persist in fighting on foot would look like a slight on one's own arm of the service. The seconds startled by the unusual nature of the suggestion hastened to refer to their principles. Captain Ferrode jumped at it with savage alacrity. For some obscure reason, depending no doubt on his psychology, he imagined himself invincible on horseback. All alone within the four walls of his room he rubbed his hands exultingly, Aha! my staff officer, I've got you now! Captain Dubair, on his side, after staring hard for a considerable time at his bothered seconds, shrugged his shoulders slightly. This affair had hopelessly and unreasonably complicated his existence for him. One absurdity more or less in the development did not matter. Several absurdity was distasteful to him. But, urbane as ever, he produced a faintly ironic smile and said in his calm voice, It certainly will do away to some extent with the monotony of the thing. But, left to himself, he sat down at a table and took his head into his hands. He had not spared himself of late, and the Marshal had been working his head to camp particularly hard. The last three weeks of campaigning and horrible weather had affected his health. When overtired he suffered from a stitch in his wounded side, and that uncomfortable sensation always depressed him. It's that brute's doing, he thought bitterly. The day before he had received a letter from home, announcing that his only sister was going to be married. He reflected that from the time she was sixteen, when he went away to Garrison's life in Strasbourg, he had had but two short glimpses of her. They had been great friends and confidants, and now they were going to give her away to a man whom he did not know. A very worthy fellow, no doubt, but not half-good enough for her, he would never see his old Leonie again.  She would know how to manage the fellow, to be sure. He was easy about her happiness, but he felt ousted from the first place in her affection which had been his ever since the girl could speak. And a melancholy regret of the days of his childhood settled upon Captain Doubert, third aide-de-camp to the Prince of Ponticorvo. He pushed aside the letter of congratulation he had begun to write, as in duty-bound but without pleasure. He took a fresh sheet of paper and wrote, �This is my last will and testament.� And looking at these words he gave himself up to unpleasant reflection, a presentiment that he would never see the scenes of his childhood over Cain, Captain Doubert. He jumped up, pushing his chair back, yawned leisurely, which demonstrated to himself that he didn�t care anything for presentiments, and throwing himself on the bed went to sleep. During the night he shivered from time to time without waking up. In the morning he rode out of town between his two seconds, talking of indifferent things and looking right and left with apparent detachment into the heavy morning mists, shrouding the flat green fields bordered by hedges. He leaped a ditch and saw the forms of many mounted men moving in the low fog. We are to fight before a gallery,� he muttered bitterly. His seconds were rather concerned at the state of the atmosphere, but presently a pale and sympathetic sun struggled above the vapours. Captain Doubert made out in the distance three horsemen riding a little apart. It was his adversary and his seconds. He drew his saber and assured himself that it was properly fastened to his wrist. And now the seconds who had been standing in a close group with the heads of their horses together separated at an easy canter, leaving a large, clear field between him and his adversary. Captain Doubert looked at the pale sun, at the dismal landscape, and the imbecility of the impending fight filled him with desolation. From a distant part of the field a stentorian voice shouted commands at proper intervals, �O pa, o troc, chargé!� Presentiments of death don�t come to a man for nothing, he thought at the moment he put spurs to his horse. And therefore nobody was more surprised than himself when, at the very first set to, Captain Ferold laid himself open to a cut extending over the forehead, blinding him with blood and ending the combat almost before it had fairly begun. The surprise of Captain Ferold might have been even greater. Captain Doubert, leaving him swearing horribly and reeling in the saddle between his two appalled friends, leaped the ditch again and trotted home with his two seconds, who seemed rather awestruck at the speedy issue of that encounter. In the evening Captain Doubert finished the congratulatory letter on his sister�s marriage. He finished it late. It was a long letter. Captain Doubert gave reigns to his fancy. He told his sister he would feel rather lonely after this great change in her life. But he continued, �The day will come for me, too, to get married. In fact I am thinking already of the time when there will be no one left to fight in Europe and the epic of wars will be over. I shall expect then to be within measurable distance of a marshal's baton, and you will be an experienced married woman. You shall look out a nice wife for me. I will be moderately bald by then, and a little blasé.  There is no saying what gossip from the army may reach your innocent ears. Whatever you hear, you may assure our father that your ever-loving brother is not a dualist.� Captain Dubair crumpled up the sheet of paper with the words, �This is my last will and testament�, and threw it in the fire with a great laugh at himself. He didn�t care a snap for what that lunatic fellow could do. He had suddenly inquired the conviction that this man was utterly powerless to affect his life in any sort of way, except perhaps in the way of putting a certain special excitement into the delightful gay intervals between the campaigns. From this on there were, however, to be no peaceful intervals in the career of Captain Dubair. He saw the fields of Islau and Friedland marched and counter-marched in the snow, the mud, and the dust of Polish plains, picking up distinction and advancement on all the roads of northeastern Europe. Meantime Captain Farod dispatched southward with his regiment, made unsatisfactory war in Spain. It was only when the preparations for the Russian campaign began that he was ordered north again. He left the country of Montillas and Oranges without regret. The first signs of a not unbecoming baldness added to the lofty aspect of Colonel Dubair�s forehead. This feature was no longer white and smooth as in the days of his youth, and the kindly open glance of his blue eyes had grown a little hard as if from much peering through the smoke of battles. The ebony crop on Colonel Farod�s head, coarse and crinkly like a cap of horse-hair, showed many silver threads about the temples. A detestable warfare of ambushes and inglorious surprises had not improved his temper. The beak-like curve of his nose was unpleasantly set off by deep folds on each side of his mouth. The round orbits of his eyes radiated fine wrinkles.  He still manifested an outspoken dislike for intriguing fellows. He seized every opportunity to state that he did not pick up his rank in the enterrooms of marshals. The unlucky persons, civil or military, who, with an attention of being pleasant, begged Colonel Farod to tell them how he came by that very apparent scar on the forehead, were astonished to find themselves snubbed in various ways, some of which were simply rude and others mysteriously sardonic. Young officers were warned kindly by their more experienced comrades not to stare openly at the Colonel's scar. But indeed, an officer need have been very young in his profession not to have heard the legendary tale of that duel originating in some mysterious, unforgivable offense.