"What's the matter, general?"
General Feraud sat erect, holding the newspaper at arm's length in order
to make out the small print better. He was reading very low to himself
over again fragments of the intelligence which had caused what may be
called his resurrection.
"We are informed... till now on sick leave... is to be called to the
command of the 5th Cavalry Brigade in..."
He dropped the paper stonily, mumbled once more... "Called to the
command"... and suddenly gave his forehead a mighty slap.
"I had almost forgotten him," he cried in a conscience-stricken tone.
A deep-chested veteran shouted across the cafe:
"Some new villainy of the government, general?"
"The villainies of these scoundrels," thundered General Feraud, "are
innumerable. One more, one less!..." He lowered his tone. "But I will
set good order to one of them at least."
He looked all round the faces. "There's a pomaded curled staff officer,
the darling of some of the marshals who sold their father for a handful
of English gold. He will find out presently that I am alive yet," he
declared in a dogmatic tone.... "However, this is a private affair.
An old affair of honour. Bah! Our honour does not matter. Here we are
driven off with a split ear like a lot of cast troop horses--good only
for a knacker's yard. Who cares for our honour now? But it would be
like striking a blow for the emperor.... _Messieurs_, I require the
assistance of two of you.
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