in a more regular manner and beg forgiveness for interrupting
this interesting conversation....

A bare arm was extended to him with gracious condescension 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 Lieutenant Feraud, splendid in his new dolman and the extremely
polished boots of his calling, sat on a chair within a foot of the couch
and, one hand propped on his thigh, with the other twirled his moustache
to a point without uttering a sound. 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 in a tone of annoyance, which
astonished not a little the other. Lieutenant D'Hubert could not imagine
that in the innocence of his heart and simplicity of his conscience
Lieutenant Feraud took a view of his duel in which neither remorse
nor yet a rational apprehension of consequences had any place. Though
Lieutenant Feraud 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 secured two experienced friends or his
seconds. Everything had been done according to the rules governing that
sort of adventure. 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. Lieutenant Feraud was perfectly tranquil.
But Lieutenant D'Hubert mistook this simple attitude for affectation and
spoke with some heat.

"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 Lieutenant 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 Lieutenant 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 ta