bility, but from a more
instinctive side of her nature. It became so great at last that she
peremptorily forbade the subject to be mentioned under her roof. Near
her couch the prohibition was obeyed, but farther off in the salon
the pall of the imposed silence continued to be lifted more or less. A
personage with a long, pale face, resembling the countenance of a
sheep, opined, shaking his head, that it was a quarrel of long standing
envenomed by time. It was objected to him that the men themselves were
too young for such a theory. They belonged also to different and distant
parts of France. There were other physical impossibilities, too. A
sub-commissary of the Intendence, an agreeable and cultivated bachelor
in kerseymere breeches, Hessian boots, and a blue coat embroidered with
silver lace, who affected to believe in the transmigration of souls,
suggested that the two had met perhaps in some previous existence.
The feud was in the forgotten past. It might have been something quite
inconceivable in the present state of their being; but their souls
remembered the animosity, and manifested an instinctive antagonism. He
developed this theme jocularly. Yet the affair was so absurd from the
worldly, the military, the honourable, or the prudential point of view,
that this weird explanation seemed rather more reasonable than any
other.

The two officers had confided nothing definite to any one. Humiliation
at having been worsted arms in hand, and an uneasy feeling of having
been involved in a scrape by the injustice of fate, kept Lieut. Feraud
savagely dumb. He mistrusted the sympathy of mankind. That would, of
course, go to that dandified staff officer. Lying in bed, he raved aloud
to the pretty maid who administered to his needs with devotion, and
listened to his horrible imprecations with alarm. That Lieut. D'Hubert
should be made to "pay for it," seemed to her just and natural. Her
principal care was that Lieut. Feraud should not excite himself. He
appeared so wholly admirable and fascinating to the humility of her
heart that her only concern was to see him get well quickly, even if it
were only to resume his visits to Madame de Lionne's salon.

Lieut. D'Hubert kept silent for the immediate reason that there was no
one, except a stupid young soldier servant, to speak to. Further, he
was aware that the episode, so grave professionally, had its comic
side. When reflecting upon it, he still felt that he would like to wring