honour."

"Very well," said the colonel, thoughtfully, and bit his lip. The
arguments of Lieut. D'Hubert, helped by his liking for the man, had
convinced him. On the other hand, it was highly improper that his
intervention, of which he had made no secret, should produce no visible
effect. He kept Lieut. D'Hubert a few minutes longer, and dismissed him
kindly.

"Take a few days more in bed. Lieutenant. What the devil does the
surgeon mean by reporting you fit for duty?"

On coming out of the colonel's quarters, Lieut. D'Hubert said nothing to
the friend who was waiting outside to take him home. He said nothing to
anybody. Lieut. D'Hubert made no confidences. But on the evening of that
day the colonel, strolling under the elms growing near his quarters, in
the company of his second in command, opened his lips.

"I've got to the bottom of this affair," he remarked. The
lieut.-colonel, a dry, brown chip of a man with short side-whiskers,
pricked up his ears at that without letting a sign of curiosity escape
him.

"It's no trifle," added the colonel, oracularly. The other waited for a
long while before he murmured:

"Indeed, sir!"

"No trifle," repeated the colonel, looking straight before him. "I've,
however, forbidden D'Hubert either to send to or receive a challenge
from Feraud for the next twelve months."

He had imagined this prohibition to save the prestige a colonel should
have. The result of it was to give an official seal to the mystery
surrounding this deadly quarrel. Lieut. D'Hubert repelled by an
impassive silence all attempts to worm the truth out of him. Lieut.
Feraud, secretly uneasy at first, regained his assurance as time went
on. He disguised his ignorance of the meaning of the imposed truce by
slight sardonic laughs, as though he were amused by what he intended to
keep to himself. "But what will you do?" his chums used to ask him. He
contented himself by replying "Qui vivra verra" with a little truculent
air. And everybody admired his discretion.

Before the end of the truce Lieut. D'Hubert got his troop. The promotion
was well earned, but somehow no one seemed to expect the event. When
Lieut. Feraud heard of it at a gathering of officers, he muttered
through his teeth, "Is that so?" At once he unhooked his sabre from a
peg near the door, buckled it on carefully, and left the company without
another word. He walked home with measured steps, struck a light with
his flint and steel, and lit his