He felt an
irrational tenderness toward his old adversary, and appreciated
emotionally the murderous absurdity their encounter had introduced into
his life. It was like an additional pinch of spice in a hot dish. He
remembered the flavour with sudden melancholy. He would never taste
it again. It was all over.... "I fancy it was being left lying in the
garden that had exasperated him so against me," he thought indulgently.
The two strangers at the next table had fallen silent upon the third
mention of General Feraud's name. Presently, the oldest of the two,
speaking in a bitter tone, affirmed that General Feraud's account was
settled. And why? Simply because he was not like some big-wigs who loved
only themselves. The royalists knew that they could never make anything
of him. He loved the Other too well.
The Other was the man of St. Helena. The two officers nodded and touched
glasses before they drank to an impossible return. Then the same who had
spoken before remarked with a sardonic little laugh:
"His adversary showed more cleverness."
"What adversary?" asked the younger as if puzzled.
"Don't you know? They were two Hussars. At each promotion they fought a
duel. Haven't you heard of the duel that is going on since 1801?"
His friend had heard of the duel, of course. Now he understood the
allusion. General Baron D'Hubert would be able now to enjoy his fat
king's favour in peace.
"Much good may it do to him," mumbled the elder.
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