I
Napoleon I., 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 a 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 gunners 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 Lieut. 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, Lieut. D'Hubert, one fine afternoon,
made his way along a quiet street of a cheerful suburb towards Lieut.
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, lowered demurely
at the sight of the tall officer, caused Lieut. D'Hubert, who was
accessible to esthetic impressions, to relax the cold, severe gravity of
his face. At the same time he observed that the girl had over her arm a
pair of hussar's breeches, blue with a red stripe.
"Lieut. Feraud in?" he inquired, benevolently.
"Oh, no, sir! He went out at six this morning."
The pretty maid tried to close the door. Lieut. D'Hubert, 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?"
Saying these words, Lieut. D'Hubert opened without ceremony the door
of a room so comfortably 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 Lieut. Feraud's room. And he saw
also that Lieut. Feraud was not at home. The truthful maid had followed
him, and raised her candid eyes to his face.
"H'm!" said Lieut. D'Hubert, greatly disappointed, for he had already
visited all the haunts where a lieutenant of hussars could be found of a
fine afternoon. "So he's out? And do you happen to know, my dear, why he
went out at six this morning?"
"No," she answered, readily. "He came home late last 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 Lieut. D'Hubert. "Learn, my angel,
that he went out thus early to fight a duel with a civilian."
She heard this news without a quiver of her dark eyelashes. It was
very obvious that the actions of Lieut. Feraud were generally above
criticism. She only looked up for a moment in mute surprise, and Lieut.
D'Hubert concluded from this absence of emotion that she must have seen
Lieut. 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 Lieut. 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 Lieut. D'Hubert. "And went out again? What for? Couldn't
he keep quietly indoors! What a lunatic! My dear girl--"
Lieut. D'Hubert's natural kindness of disposition and strong sense of
comradeship helped his powers of observation. 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 Lieut.
Feraud's comfort and happiness. He was pressing and persuasive. He used
his eyes, which were kind and fine, with excellent effect. His anxiety
to get hold at once of Lieut. Feraud, for Lieut. Feraud's own good,
seemed so genuine that at last it overcame the girl's unwillingness to
speak. Unluckily she had not much to tell. Lieut. 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 eyes, and Lieut. D'Hubert stared into them incredulously.
"It's incredible. Gone parading the town in his best uniform! My dear
child, don't you know he ran that civilian through this morning? Clean
through, as you spit a hare."
The pretty maid heard the 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 Lieut.
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," grumbled Lieut. D'Hubert.
"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 insisted in a shy murmur.
"Why, yes! Now I think of it, I haven't seen him anywhere about. What on
earth has he done with himself?"
"He's gone to pay a call," suggested the maid, after a moment of
silence.
Lieut. D'Hubert started.
"A call! Do you mean a call on a lady? The cheek of the man! And how do
you know this, my dear?"
Without concealing her woman's scorn for the denseness of the masculine
mind, the pretty maid reminded him that Lieut. 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.
Lieut. D'Hubert, without questioning the accuracy of the deduction, did
not see that it advanced him much on his official quest. For his quest
after Lieut. 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 visit in the afternoon. The two young men 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 hussars breeches on a
chair, protested with a vexed little laugh:
"Oh, dear, no! On Madame de Lionne."
Lieut. D'Hubert whistled softly. Madame de Lionne was the wife of a high
official who 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. Lieut. D'Hubert had whistled, not
because the idea of pursuing Lieut. Feraud into that very salon was
disagreeable to him, but because, having arrived in Strasbourg only
lately, he had not had the time as yet to get an introduction to
Madame de Lionne. And what was that swashbuckler Feraud doing there, he
wondered. He did not seem the sort of man who--
"Are you certain of what you say?" asked Lieut. 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'hotel of Madame de Lionne. In this way she had her information.
And she was perfectly certain. In giving this assurance she sighed.
Lieut. Feraud called there nearly every afternoon, she added.
"Ah, bah!" exclaimed D'Hubert, ironically. His opinion of Madame de
Lionne went down several degrees. Lieut. 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. Lieut. 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, Lieut. 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 passport. His position as
officier d'ordonnance of the general added to his assurance. Moreover,
now that he knew where to find Lieut. 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
wore big hats surcharged with a profusion of feathers; their bodies
sheathed in clinging white gowns, from the armpits to the tips of the
low satin shoes, looked sylph-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 multi-coloured garments with collars up to their ears
and thick sashes round their waists. Lieut. D'Hubert made his unabashed
way across the room and, bowing low before a sylph-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 Feraud. He proposed to himself to return
presently in a more regular manner and beg forgiveness for interrupting
the interesting conversation . . .
A bare arm was extended towards him with gracious nonchalance 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 ca!" 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, Lieut. Feraud, splendid in his new dolman and the extremely
polished boots of his calling, sat on a chair within a foot of the
couch, one hand resting on his thigh, the other twirling his moustache
to a point. 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, with astonishing indifference.
Lieut. D'Hubert could not imagine that in the innocence of his heart and
simplicity of his conscience Lieut. Feraud took a view of his duel in
which neither remorse nor yet a rational apprehension of consequences
had any place. Though he 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 had two experienced friends for his seconds.
Everything had been done according to the rules governing that sort of
adventures. 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. Lieut. Feraud was perfectly tranquil; but Lieut.
D'Hubert took it for affectation, and spoke with a certain vivacity.
"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 Lieut. 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
Lieut. 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 other eyes
in the drawing-room followed the departing officers; and when they had
gone out one or two men, who had already heard of the duel, imparted the
information to the sylph-like ladies, who received it with faint shrieks
of humane concern.
Meantime, the two hussars walked side by side, Lieut. Feraud trying to
master the hidden reason of things which in this instance eluded the
grasp of his intellect, Lieut. D'Hubert feeling annoyed at the part he
had to play, because the general's instructions were that he should see
personally that Lieut. 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 a mental exasperation against the
incomprehensible. And aloud he observed rather reproachfully, "The
general is in a devilish fury with you!"
Lieut. Feraud stopped short on the edge of the pavement, and cried in
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 hands as if to prevent it bursting with perplexity.
"For the duel," said Lieut. D'Hubert, curtly. He was annoyed greatly by
this sort of perverse fooling.
"The duel! The . . ."
Lieut. 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 7th Hussars?"
Lieut. D'Hubert could not remain altogether unmoved by that simple
sentiment. This little fellow was a lunatic, he thought to himself, but
there was something in what he said.
"Of course, I don't know how far you were justified," he began,
soothingly. "And the general himself may not be exactly informed. Those
people have been deafening him with their lamentations."
"Ah! the general is not exactly informed," mumbled Lieut. 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 afterwards!"
"Don't excite yourself like this," remonstrated the other. "Your
adversary'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's the best thing for you to be kept out of sight for a while."
"I am very much obliged to the general," muttered Lieut. 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 Lieut. 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 Lieut. Feraud's
lodgings. The latter turned towards his companion. "Lieut. 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 up."
The pretty maid had opened the door. Lieut. Feraud brushed past her
brusquely, and she raised her scared and questioning eyes to Lieut.
D'Hubert, who could do nothing but shrug his shoulders slightly as he
followed with marked reluctance.
In his room Lieut. 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 Lieut. D'Hubert.
"I am reasonable! I am perfectly reasonable!" retorted the other
with ominous restraint. "I can't call the general to account for his
behaviour, but you are going to answer me for yours."
"I can't listen to this nonsense," murmured Lieut. D'Hubert, making a
slightly contemptuous grimace.
"You call this nonsense? It seems to me a perfectly plain statement.
Unless you don't understand French."
"What on earth do you mean?"
"I mean," screamed suddenly Lieut. Feraud, "to cut off your ears to
teach you to disturb me with the general's orders when I am talking to a
lady!"
A profound silence followed this mad declaration; and through the open
window Lieut. D'Hubert heard the little birds singing sanely in the
garden. He said, preserving his calm, "Why! If you take that tone,
of course I shall hold myself at your disposition whenever you are at
liberty to attend to this affair; but I don't think you will cut my ears
off."
"I am going to attend to it at once," declared Lieut. 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 Lieut. 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!" And turning his back on the little Gascon, who, always
sober in his potations, was as though born intoxicated with the sunshine
of his vine-ripening country, the Northman, who could drink hard on
occasion, but was born sober under the watery skies of Picardy, made 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 Lieut. Feraud, with a
bare 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. 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 with you. 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, rising and falling on his toes and getting very red in the
face.
Lieut. D'Hubert, on the contrary, became very pale at the sound of the
unsavoury word for a moment, 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 the other 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 shall 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 shall send word to your friends to come and bury
you when I am done. 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 Lieut. D'Hubert, exclaiming, "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 away, putting the backs
of her hands over her eyes. Feraud did not seem to see her, but she ran
after him and seized his left arm. He shook her off, and then she rushed
towards Lieut. D'Hubert and clawed at the sleeve of his uniform.
"Wretched man!" she sobbed. "Is this what you wanted to find him for?"
"Let me go," entreated Lieut. 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 Lieut. Feraud commented that assurance. "Come
along!" he shouted, with a stamp of his foot.
And Lieut. D'Hubert did follow. He could do nothing else. Yet in
vindication of his sanity it must be recorded that as he passed through
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 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 herself to a dreadful curiosity. She had
also the notion of rushing if need be between Lieut. Feraud and death.
The deaf gardener, utterly unconscious of approaching footsteps, went
on watering his flowers till Lieut. Feraud thumped him on the back.
Beholding suddenly an enraged man flourishing a big sabre, the old chap
trembling in all his limbs dropped the watering-pot. At once Lieut.
Feraud kicked it away with great animosity, and, seizing the gardener
by the throat, backed him against a tree. He 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!"
Lieut. D'Hubert came slowly down the walk, unclasping his dolman with
unconcealed disgust. Even then, with his hand already on the hilt of 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 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 tossed her arms above her white cap, scolding in a cracked voice.
The gardener remained glued to the tree, his toothless mouth open in
idiotic astonishment, and a little farther up the path the pretty girl,
as if spellbound to a small grass plot, ran a few steps this way and
that, wringing her hands and muttering crazily. She did not rush between
the combatants: the onslaughts of Lieut. Feraud were so fierce that
her heart failed her. Lieut. 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 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 stare of his thick-set adversary. This
absurd affair would ruin his reputation of a sensible, well-behaved,
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. A duel, whether regarded as a ceremony in the cult of honour, or
even when reduced in its moral essence to a form of manly sport, demands
a perfect singleness of intention, a homicidal austerity of mood. On
the other hand, this vivid concern for his future had not a bad effect
inasmuch as it began to rouse the anger of Lieut. D'Hubert. Some seventy
seconds had elapsed since they had crossed blades, and Lieut. 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, Lieut. Feraud with a triumphant sort of
snarl pressed his attack.
"This enraged animal will have me against the wall directly," thought
Lieut. D'Hubert. He imagined himself much closer to the house than
he was, and he dared not turn his head; it seemed to him that he was
keeping his adversary off with his eyes rather more than with his point.
Lieut. Feraud crouched and bounded with a fierce tigerish agility fit 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. Lieut. 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 enough that by this time he meant to kill--nothing less. 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 Lieut. 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 Lieut. Feraud to recoil, with a
bloodcurdling grunt of baffled rage. He made a swift feint, and then
rushed straight forward.
"Ah! you would, would you?" Lieut. D'Hubert exclaimed, mentally. 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
Lieut. 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 backwards with great violence. The shock jarred his
boiling brain into the perfect quietude of insensibility. Simultaneously
with his fall the pretty servant-girl shrieked; but the old maiden lady
at the window ceased her scolding, and began to cross herself piously.
Beholding his adversary stretched out perfectly still, his face to the
sky, Lieut. 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 a while in an exaggerated memory of the right good-will he had
put into the blow. He dropped on his knees hastily 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. The fellow
deserved the worst. But truly he did not want the death of that sinner.
The affair was ugly enough as it stood, and Lieut. 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. Rending the
air with screams of horror, she attacked him from behind and, twining
her fingers in his hair, tugged back 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
fling her off. He did this stoically, without a word, kneeling down
again at once to go on with his work. But the third time, his work being
done, he seized her and held her arms pinned to her body. Her cap was
half off, her face was red, her eyes blazed 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 she had managed to scratch his face abundantly. Ridicule
would be added to the scandal of the story. He imagined the adorned tale
making its way through the garrison of the town, through the whole army
on the frontier, 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 to the very ears 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 down the arms of the
girl in a strong grip, Lieut. D'Hubert glanced over his shoulder. Lieut.
Feraud had opened his eyes. He did not move. Like a man just waking from
a deep sleep he stared without any expression at the evening sky.
Lieut. 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
struggled, not with maidenly coyness, but like a pretty, dumb fury,
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. She was 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?"
With real affliction he heard her declare that she would do nothing of
the kind. On the contrary, her sobbed out intention was to remain in the
garden, and fight tooth and nail for the protection of the vanquished
man. This was shocking.
"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 wild cat, you!"
They struggled. A thick, drowsy voice said behind him, "What are you
after with that girl?"
Lieut. 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.
Lieut. D'Hubert released the girl who crouched at once by the side of
the other lieutenant. 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.
Lieut. D'Hubert went away.
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 in the manner of a murderer. Presently 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 persevering virtuosity, and through the fioritures of the
tune one could hear the regular thumping of the foot beating time on the
floor.
Lieut. 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 at the hour when he was playing the
flute. He was a man whose hair had turned grey 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 Lieut. 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."
Lieut. D'Hubert found the surgeon occupied in unscrewing his flute, and
packing the pieces methodically in a case. He turned his head.
"Water there--in the corner. Your hands do want washing."
"I've stopped the bleeding," said Lieut. 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 at work
in the hospital all day but I've been told this morning by somebody that
he had come off without a scratch."
"Not the same duel probably," growled moodily Lieut. 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." The surgeon looked narrowly at Lieut.
D'Hubert. "How did you come by that scratched face? Both sides, too--and
symmetrical. It's amusing."
"Very!" snarled Lieut. 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
Lieut. 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 Lieut. D'Hubert. "You can find the house by yourself. The
front door will be standing 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. Lieut. 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. The truth was confoundedly grotesque and
embarrassing, even putting aside the irregularity of the combat itself,
which made it come abominably near a criminal offence. Like all
men without much imagination, a faculty which helps the process of
reflective thought, Lieut. D'Hubert became frightfully harassed by the
obvious aspects of his predicament. He was certainly glad that he had
not killed Lieut. 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. Lieut. 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
forbidden to see any 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 thing to the worried captive. The amateur of the flute
began by explaining that he was there only by a special favour of the
colonel.
"I represented to him that it would be only fair to let you have some
authentic news of your adversary," he continued. "You'll be glad to hear
he's getting better fast."
Lieut. 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 Lieut. 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 facts."
"He said 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."
"Didn't think he would have the grace to be ashamed!" mumbled D'Hubert,
resuming 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, grey-haired figure seated on a wooden
chair.
"Whatever it is," said the surgeon a little impatiently, "I don't want
to pronounce any 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. If you go on like this you will make for yourself an ugly
reputation."
"Go on like what?" demanded Lieut. 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 Lieut. 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 Lieut. D'Hubert in a great voice. Then, lowering
his tone impressively, "And what about me? Could I help myself?"
The surgeon stood up. 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 to you. Say that I am humouring
an invalid if you like. He wants you to know 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 Lieut. D'Hubert in a
passion.
The secret of his exasperation was not apparent to the visitor; but this
passion confirmed the surgeon 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 about that
fact, those two young men had risked being broken and disgraced at the
outset almost of their career. The surgeon 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.