bered that the man was stone deaf. All that time the girl
struggled, not with maidenly coyness, but like a pretty, dumb fury,
kicking his shins now and then. He continued to hold her as if in a
vice, his instinct telling him that were he to let her go she would fly
at his eyes. But he was greatly humiliated by his position. At last she
gave up. She was more exhausted than appeased, he feared. Nevertheless,
he attempted to get out of this wicked dream by way of negotiation.

"Listen to me," he said, as calmly as he could. "Will you promise to run
for a surgeon if I let you go?"

With real affliction he heard her declare that she would do nothing of
the kind. On the contrary, her sobbed out intention was to remain in the
garden, and fight tooth and nail for the protection of the vanquished
man. This was shocking.

"My dear child!" he cried in despair, "is it possible that you think
me capable of murdering a wounded adversary? Is it. . . . Be quiet, you
little wild cat, you!"

They struggled. A thick, drowsy voice said behind him, "What are you
after with that girl?"

Lieut. Feraud had raised himself on his good arm. He was looking
sleepily at his other arm, at the mess of blood on his uniform, at a
small red pool on the ground, at his sabre lying a foot away on the
path. Then he laid himself down gently again to think it all out, as far
as a thundering headache would permit of mental operations.

Lieut. D'Hubert released the girl who crouched at once by the side of
the other lieutenant. The shades of night were falling on the little
trim garden with this touching group, whence proceeded low murmurs
of sorrow and compassion, with other feeble sounds of a different
character, as if an imperfectly awake invalid were trying to swear.
Lieut. D'Hubert went away.

He passed through the silent house, and congratulated himself upon the
dusk concealing his gory hands and scratched face from the passers-by.
But this story could by no means be concealed. He dreaded the discredit
and ridicule above everything, and was painfully aware of sneaking
through the back streets in the manner of a murderer. Presently the
sounds of a flute coming out of the open window of a lighted upstairs
room in a modest house interrupted his dismal reflections. It was being
played with a persevering virtuosity, and through the fioritures of the
tune one could hear the regular thumping of the foot beating time on the
floor.

Lieut. D'Hubert shouted