The deaf gardener, utterly unconscious of approaching footst_The Point Of Honor: A Military Tale

Produced by David Widger

THE POINT OF HONOR

A MILITARY TALE

JOSEPH CONRAD

ILLUSTRATIONS BY DAN SAYRE GROESBECK

NEW YORK

THE MCCLURE COMPANY

MCMVIII

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

“You will fight no more duels now” Frontispiece

“Bowing before a sylph-like form reclining on a couch”

“The angry clash of arms filled that prim garden”

“You take the nearest brute, Colonel D'Hubert”

Napoleon the First, whose career had the quality of a duel against the

whole of Europe, disliked duelling between the officers of his army. The

great military emperor was not a swashbuckler, and had little respect

for tradition.

Nevertheless, a story of duelling which became a legend in the army runs

through the epic of imperial wars. To the surprise and admiration of

their fellows, two officers, like insane artists trying to gild 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 the 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

valour necessarily must be of a more plodding kind. As to artillery,

or engineers whose heads are kept cool on a diet of mathematics, it is

simply unthinkable.

The names of the two officers were Feraud and D'Hubert, and they were

both lieutenants in a regiment of hussars, but not in the same regiment.

Feraud was doing regimental work, but Lieutenant D'Hubert 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, firelock-cleaning peace dear to a

military heart and undamaging to military prestige inasmuch that no one

believed in its sincerity or duration.

Under those historical circumstances so favourable to the proper

appreciation of military leisure Lieutenant D'Hubert could have been

seen one fine afternoon making his way along the street of a cheerful

suburb towards Lieutenant Feraud'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 sight of the tall officer, caused Lieutenant D'Hubert,

who was accessible to esthetic 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 Feraud 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 D'Hubert,

opposing this move with gentle firmness, stepped into the anteroom

jingling his spurs.

“Come, my dear. You don't mean to say he has not been home since six

o'clock this morning?”

Saying these words, Lieutenant D'Hubert 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 Feraud's room. And he

saw also that Lieutenant Feraud was not at home. The truthful maid had

followed him and looked up inquisitively.

“H'm,” said Lieutenant D'Hubert, 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 D'Hubert. “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 Feraud were generally above

criticism. She only looked up for a moment in mute surprise, and

Lieutenant D'Hubert concluded from this absence of emotion that she

must have seen Lieutenant Feraud 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 D'Hubert, in a tone of

anxious conviction. “But he has been home this morning?”

This time the pretty maid nodded slightly.

“He has!” cried Lieutenant D'Hubert. “And went out again? What for?

Couldn't he keep quietly indoors? What a lunatic! My dear child....”

Lieutenant D'Hubert'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 interest she took in Lieutenant Feraud'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 Feraud, for Lieutenant Feraud's own good, seemed so

genuine that at last it overcame the girl's discretion. Unluckily she

had not much to tell. Lieutenant Feraud 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 D'Hubert, 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 hare.”

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 an awful row,” continued Lieutenant

D'Hubert, pursuing his train of thought. “And the general is very angry.

It's one of the best families in the town. Feraud 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

D'Hubert. “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 D'Hubert 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's scorn for the denseness of the masculine

mind, the pretty maid reminded him that Lieutenant Feraud had arrayed

himself in his best uniform before going out. He had also put on his

newest dolman, she added in a tone as if this conversation were getting

on her nerves and turned away brusquely. Lieutenant D'Hubert, 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

Feraud 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! On Madame de Lionne.” Lieutenant D'Hubert whistled softly.

Madame de Lionne, 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 D'Hubert had whistled, not because the

idea of pursuing Lieutenant Feraud into that very salon was in the least

distasteful to him, but because having but lately arrived in Strasbourg

he had not the time as yet to get an introduction to Madame de Lionne.

And what was that swashbuckler Feraud doing there? He did not seem the

sort of man who...

“Are you certain of what you say?” asked Lieutenant D'Hubert.

The girl was perfectly certain. Without turning round to look at him

she explained that the coachman of their next-door neighbours knew

the _maitre-d'hôtel_ of Madame de Lionne. In this way she got her

information. And she was perfectly certain. In giving this assurance she

sighed. Lieutenant Feraud called there nearly every afternoon.

“Ah, bah!” exclaimed D'Hubert ironically. His opinion of Madame de

Lionne went down several degrees. Lieutenant Feraud 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

D'Hubert, 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.”

“Go quickly then. Don't stand here now I've told you where he is,” cried

the girl, colouring to the eyes.

“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 D'Hubert took his departure.

He clanked and jingled along the streets with a martial 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'ordonnance_ of the general added to his assurance.

Moreover, now he knew where to find Lieutenant Feraud, he had no option.

It was a service matter.

Madame de Lionne'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 a profusion of feathers, sheathed in

clinging white gowns from their armpits to the tips of their low satin

shoes, looked sylphlike 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, coloured garments with stiff collars up to their

ears and thick sashes round their waists. Lieutenant D'Hubert made his

unabashed way across the room, and bowing low before a sylphlike 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 Feraud. 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 Lionne 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 Feraud, splendid in his new dolman 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 moustache

to a point without uttering a sound. At a significant glance from

D'Hubert he rose without alacrity and followed him into the recess of a

window.

“What is it you want with me?” he asked in a tone of annoyance, which

astonished not a little the other. Lieutenant D'Hubert could not imagine

that in the innocence of his heart and simplicity of his conscience

Lieutenant Feraud took a view of his duel in which neither remorse

nor yet a rational apprehension of consequences had any place. Though

Lieutenant Feraud 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 or 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 Feraud was perfectly tranquil.

But Lieutenant D'Hubert 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 Feraud to be astonished.

“What the devil are you telling me there?” he murmured faintly, and fell

into such profound wonder that he could only follow mechanically the

motions of Lieutenant D'Hubert. The two officers--one tall, with an

interesting face and a moustache the colour 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 Lionne, a woman of eclectic taste, smiled upon these armed young men

with impartial sensibility and an equal share of interest. Madame de

Lionne 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 sylphlike ladies, who received it with little shrieks

of humane concern.

Meantime the two hussars walked side by side, Lieutenant Feraud trying

to fathom the hidden reason of things which in this instance eluded the

grasp of his intellect; Lieutenant D'Hubert feeling bored by the part he

had to play; because the general's instructions were that he should see

personally that Lieutenant Feraud 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 moustache seemed animated by his mental exasperation before

the incomprehensible. And aloud he observed rather reproachfully, “The

general is in a devilish fury with you.”

Lieutenant Feraud 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 Gascon 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 D'Hubert curtly. He was annoyed greatly

by this sort of perverse fooling.

“The duel! The...”

Lieutenant Feraud 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 D'Hubert 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,” mumbled Lieutenant Feraud, walking

faster and faster as his choler 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 over-severe 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 Feraud

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 D'Hubert, 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!... He hates to be bothered

with complaints against his officers, you know. And it looked uncommonly

like sheer bravado.”

The two officers had arrived now at the street door of Lieutenant

Feraud's lodgings. The latter turned toward his companion. “Lieutenant

D'Hubert,” 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 Feraud brushed past

her brusquely and she raised her scared, questioning eyes to Lieutenant

D'Hubert, who could do nothing but shrug his shoulders slightly as he

followed with marked reluctance.

In his room Lieutenant Feraud unhooked the clasp, flung his new dolman

on the bed, and folding his arms across his chest, turned to the other

hussar.

“Do you imagine I am a man to submit tamely to injustice?” he inquired

in a boisterous voice.

“Oh, do be reasonable,” remonstrated Lieutenant D'Hubert.

“I am reasonable. I am perfectly reasonable,” retorted the other,

ominously lowering his voice. “I can't call the general to account for

his behaviour, but you are going to answer to me for yours.”

“I can't listen to this nonsense,” murmured Lieutenant D'Hubert, making

a slightly contemptuous grimace.

“You call that nonsense. It seems to me perfectly clear. Unless you

don't understand French.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“I mean,” screamed suddenly Lieutenant Feraud, “to cut off your ears to

teach you not to disturb me, orders or no orders, when I am talking to a

lady.”

A profound silence followed this mad declaration--and through the open

window Lieutenant D'Hubert 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 Feraud, with

extreme truculence. “If you are thinking of displaying your airs and

graces to-night in Madame de Lionne's salon you are very much mistaken.”

“Really,” said Lieutenant D'Hubert, who was beginning to feel irritated,

“you are an impracticable sort of fellow. 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 Gascon 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 Feraud with

the unsheathed sword in his hand.

“At once. At once,” stuttered Feraud, 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 awhile, 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 Gascon. “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 D'Hubert, on the contrary, became very pale at the

sound of the unsavoury word, then flushed pink to the roots of his fair

hair.

“But you can't go out to fight; you are under arrest, you lunatic,” he

objected, with angry scorn.

“There's the garden. It's big enough to lay out your long carcass in,”

spluttered out Lieutenant Feraud with such ardour that somehow the anger

of the cooler man subsided.

“This is perfectly absurd,” he said, glad enough to think he had found a

way out of it for the moment. “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 for ceremonies. 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. He's as deaf

as a post, but he has two eyes in his head. Come along. I will teach

you, my staff officer, that the carrying about of a general's orders is

not always child's play.”

While thus discoursing 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 D'Hubert, 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 keyhole, staggered backward, putting the backs

of her hands over her eyes. He didn't seem to see her, but as he was

crossing the anteroom she ran after him and seized his left arm. He

shook her off and then she rushed upon Lieutenant D'Hubert and clawed at

the sleeve of his uniform.

“Wretched man,” she sobbed despairingly. “Is this what you wanted to

find him for?”

“Let me go,” entreated Lieutenant D'Hubert, 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 Feraud commented that assurance. “Come

along,” he cried impatiently, with a stamp of his foot.

And Lieutenant D'Hubert did follow. He could do nothing else. But in

vindication of his sanity it must be recorded that as he passed out

of the anteroom 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 hussars being

chased along the street by another officer of hussars 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,

scared eyes, she surrendered to a dreadful curiosity. She had also

a vague notion of rushing, if need be, between Lieutenant Feraud and

death.

The deaf gardener, utterly unconscious of approaching footsteps, went

on watering his flowers till Lieutenant Feraud thumped him on the back.

Beholding suddenly an infuriated man, flourishing a big sabre, the old

chap, trembling in all his limbs, dropped the watering pot. At once

Lieutenant Feraud kicked it away with great animosity; then seizing the

gardener by the throat, backed him against a 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 D'Hubert, coming slowly down the walk, unclasped his dolman

with undisguised reluctance. Even then, with his hand already on his

sword, he hesitated to draw, till a roar “_En garde, fichtre!_ 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. The gardener remained glued to the

tree looking on, his toothless mouth open in idiotic astonishment, and

a little farther up the walk the pretty girl, as if held by a spell,

ran to and fro on a small grass plot, wringing her hands and muttering

crazily. She did not rush between the combatants. The onslaughts of

Lieutenant Feraud were so fierce that her heart failed her.

Lieutenant D'Hubert, 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.

[Illustration: 028.jpg “The angry clash of arms filled that prim

garden”]

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 in the 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, inasmuch as it

began to rouse the slow anger of Lieutenant D'Hubert. Some seventy

seconds had elapsed since they had crossed steel and Lieutenant D'Hubert

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 Feraud, giving vent to triumphant

snarls, pressed his attack with renewed vigour.

This enraged animal, thought D'Hubert, 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 Feraud 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 D'Hubert 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 D'Hubert. 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 Feraud to recoil. He did this

with a blood-curdling grunt of baffled rage. He made a swift feint and

then rushed straight forward.

“Ah! you would, would you?” Lieutenant D'Hubert 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 Feraud 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 shock

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.

In the first moment, seeing his adversary lying perfectly still, his

face to the sky and his toes turned up, Lieutenant D'Hubert thought he

had killed him outright. The impression of having slashed hard enough

to cut his man clean in two abode with him for awhile in an exaggerated

impression of the right good will 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 D'Hubert

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

defenceless 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. Her

cap was half off, her face was red, her eyes glared with crazy boldness.

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. Ridicule 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 Feraud, 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 D'Hubert looked over his shoulder. Lieutenant Feraud 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 D'Hubert'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 coyness 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? Is it.... Be quiet, you little

wildcat, you,” he added.

She struggled. A thick sleepy voice said behind him:

“What are you up to with that girl?”

Lieutenant Feraud 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 D'Hubert 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 whence 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 D'Hubert went away, too

exasperated to care what would happen.

He passed through the silent house and congratulated himself upon the

dusk 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 _fioritures_ of the tune one could even hear the thump of the foot

beating time on the floor.

Lieutenant D'Hubert 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, D'Hubert! 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 in the thankless task of tying up

wounds on battlefields where others reaped advancement and glory.

“I want you to go at once and see Feraud. You know Lieutenant Feraud? 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 D'Hubert. “I come from there.”

“That's amusing,” said the elderly surgeon. Amusing was his favourite

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 D'Hubert 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 D'Hubert. “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 D'Hubert,

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

D'Hubert. “How did you come by that scratched face? Both sides too--and

symmetrical. It's amusing.”

“Very,” snarled Lieutenant D'Hubert. “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 D'Hubert'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 D'Hubert. “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 parley. Lieutenant D'Hubert regained his quarters nursing a hot

and uneasy indignation. He dreaded the chaff of his comrades almost

as much as the anger of his superiors. 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 D'Hubert became frightfully

harassed by the obvious aspects of his predicament. He was certainly

glad that he had not killed Lieutenant Feraud 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 D'Hubert was no longer _officier d'ordonnance_

to the general commanding the division. He had been sent back to his

regiment. And he was resuming his connection with the soldiers' 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 D'Hubert's face exhibited no conventional signs of gladness.

He continued to walk the floor of the dusty bare 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?” mumbled Lieutenant D'Hubert, 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 D'Hubert, “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-bye, 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.”

“Didn't think he would have the grace to be ashamed,” grunted D'Hubert,

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 D'Hubert with a

sidelong 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 heavens, you had better not,” burst out D'Hubert.

“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. If you go on like this you will make for

yourself an ugly reputation.”

“Go on like what?” demanded Lieutenant D'Hubert, stopping short,

quite startled. “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 D'Hubert

in a sort of awed 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 D'Hubert. 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 peace time 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 humouring an

invalid if you like. He says that this affair is by no means at an

end. He intends to send you his seconds directly he has regained his

strength--providing, of course, the army is not in the field at that

time.”

“He intends--does he? Why certainly,” spluttered Lieutenant D'Hubert

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

those 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.

He succeeded in this object no better than the rest of the garrison and

the whole of society. The two young officers, of no especial consequence

till then, became distinguished by the universal curiosity as to the

origin of their quarrel. Madame de Lionne's salon was the centre 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 demeanour. Lieutenant

Feraud 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 Lionne 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

peremptorily 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 long

standing envenomed 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

subcommissary of the Intendence, an agreeable and cultivated bachelor

in keysermere breeches, 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 in hand, and an uneasy feeling

of having been involved into a scrape by the injustice of fate, kept

Lieutenant Feraud 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 aloud to the pretty maid who ministered

to his needs with devotion and listened to his horrible imprecations

with alarm. That Lieutenant D'Hubert should be made to “pay for it,”

whatever it was, seemed to her just and natural. Her principal concern

was that Lieutenant Feraud 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 Lionne's salon.

Lieutenant D'Hubert kept silent for the immediate reason that there was

no one except a stupid young soldier servant to speak to. But he was not

anxious for the opportunities of which his severe arrest deprived him.

He would have been uncommunicative 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 wring Lieutenant

Feraud'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 Feraud 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-defence.

This prospect vexed him.

But no inquiry took place. The army took the field instead. Lieutenant

D'Hubert, liberated without remark, returned to his regimental duties,

and Lieutenant Feraud, his arm 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 rumour of an armistice being signed he

could turn without misgivings to the prosecution of his private warfare.