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.     

       This time it was to be regular warfare. He dispatched two friends to Lieutenant D'Hubert, 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 D'Hubert 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 duelling swords was arranged one early morning in a convenient field. At the third set-to, Lieutenant D'Hubert 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 D'Hubert heard these words with pleasure. One of his seconds—the one who, sitting on the wet grass, was sustaining his head on his lap-said:     

       “The fortune of war, mon pauvre vieux. What will you have? You had better make it up, like two good fellows. Do!”      

       “You don't know what you ask,” murmured Lieutenant D'Hubert in a feeble voice. “However, if he...”      

       In another part of the meadow the seconds of Lieutenant Feraud were urging him to go over and shake hands with his adversary.     

       “You have paid him off now—que diable. It's the proper thing to do. This D'Hubert is a decent fellow.”      

       “I know the decency of these generals' pets,” muttered Lieutenant Feraud through his 

 Prev. P 24/82 next