thought so. That Bonaparte had a special predilection for the
canaille. I don't mean this for you, D'Hubert. You are one of us, though
you have served this usurper, who . . ."

"Let's leave him out of this," broke in General D'Hubert.

The Chevalier shrugged his peaked shoulders. "Feraud of sorts. Offspring
of a blacksmith and some village troll. See what comes of mixing
yourself up with that sort of people."

"You have made shoes yourself, Chevalier."

"Yes. But I am not the son of a shoemaker. Neither are you, Monsieur
D'Hubert. You and I have something that your Bonaparte's princes, dukes,
and marshals have not, because there's no power on earth that could give
it to them," retorted the emigre, with the rising animation of a man who
has got hold of a hopeful argument. "Those people don't exist--all these
Ferauds. Feraud! What is Feraud? A va-nu-pieds disguised into a general
by a Corsican adventurer masquerading as an emperor. There is no earthly
reason for a D'Hubert to s'encanailler by a duel with a person of that
sort. You can make your excuses to him perfectly well. And if the manant
takes into his head to decline them, you may simply refuse to meet him."

"You say I may do that?"

"I do. With the clearest conscience."

"Monsieur le Chevalier! To what do you think you have returned from your
emigration?"

This was said in such a startling tone that the old man raised sharply
his bowed head, glimmering silvery white under the points of the little
tricorne. For a time he made no sound.

"God knows!" he said at last, pointing with a slow and grave gesture at
a tall roadside cross mounted on a block of stone, and stretching its
arms of forged iron all black against the darkening red band in the
sky--"God knows! If it were not for this emblem, which I remember seeing
on this spot as a child, I would wonder to what we who remained faithful
to God and our king have returned. The very voices of the people have
changed."

"Yes, it is a changed France," said General D'Hubert. He seemed to have
regained his calm. His tone was slightly ironic. "Therefore I cannot
take your advice. Besides, how is one to refuse to be bitten by a dog
that means to bite? It's impracticable. Take my word for it--Feraud
isn't a man to be stayed by apologies or refusals. But there are
other ways. I could, for instance, send a messenger with a word to
the brigadier of the gendarmerie in Senlac. He and his two friends are
liable to arres