This time it was to be regular warfare.  He sent two friends to Lieut.  D’Hubert, whose regiment was stationed only a few miles away.  Those friends had asked no questions of their principal.  “I owe him one, that pretty staff officer,” he had said, grimly, and they went away quite contentedly on their mission.  Lieut.  D’Hubert had no difficulty in finding two friends equally discreet and devoted to their principal.  “There’s a crazy fellow to whom I must give a lesson,” he had declared curtly; 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 Lieut.  D’Hubert found himself lying on his back on the dewy grass with a hole in his side.  A serene sun rising over a landscape of meadows and woods 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.

Lieut.  D’Hubert heard these words with pleasure.  One of his seconds, sitting on the wet grass, and 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 Lieut.  D’Hubert, in a feeble voice.  “However, if he . . .”

In another part of the meadow the seconds of Lieut.  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 Lieut.  Feraud through his teeth, and the sombre expression of his face discouraged further efforts at reconciliation.  The seconds, bowing from a distance, took their men off the field.  In the afternoon Lieut.  D’Hubert, very popular as a good comrade uniting great bravery with a frank and equable temper, had many visitors.  It was remarked that Lieut.  Feraud did not, as is customary, show himself much abroad to receive the felicitations of his friends.  They would not have failed him, because he, too, was liked for the exuberance of his southern nature and the simplicity of his character.  In all the places where officers were in the habit of assembling at the end of the day the duel of the morning was talked over from every point of view.  Though Lieut.  D’Hubert had got worsted this time, his sword play was commended.  No one could deny that it was very close, very scientific.  It was even whispered that if he got touched it was because he wished to spare his adversary.  But by many the vigour and dash of Lieut.  Feraud’s attack were pronounced irresistible.

The merits of the two officers as combatants were frankly discussed; but their attitude to each other after the duel was criticised lightly and with caution.  It was irreconcilable, and that was to be regretted.  But after all they knew best what the care of their honour dictated.  It was not a matter for their comrades to pry into over-much.  As to the origin of the quarrel, the general impression was that it dated from the time they were holding garrison in Strasbourg.  The musical surgeon shook his head at that.  It went much farther back, he thought.