e no peaceful intervals in the
career of Captain D'Hubert. He saw the fields of Eylau and Friedland,
marched and countermarched in the snow, in the mud, in the dust of
Polish plains, picking up distinction and advancement on all the roads
of North-eastern Europe. Meantime, Captain Feraud, despatched southwards
with his regiment, made unsatisfactory war in Spain. It was only when
the preparations for the Russian campaign began that he was ordered
north again. He left the country of mantillas and oranges without
regret.

The first signs of a not unbecoming baldness added to the lofty aspect
of Colonel D'Hubert's forehead. This feature was no longer white and
smooth as in the days of his youth; the kindly open glance of his blue
eyes had grown a little hard as if from much peering through the smoke
of battles. The ebony crop on Colonel Feraud's head, coarse and crinkly
like a cap of horsehair, showed many silver threads about the temples. A
detestable warfare of ambushes and inglorious surprises had not improved
his temper. The beak-like curve of his nose was unpleasantly set off
by a deep fold on each side of his mouth. The round orbits of his eyes
radiated wrinkles. More than ever he recalled an irritable and staring
bird--something like a cross between a parrot and an owl. He was still
extremely outspoken in his dislike of "intriguing fellows." He seized
every opportunity to state that he did not pick up his rank in the
ante-rooms of marshals. The unlucky persons, civil or military, who,
with an intention of being pleasant, begged Colonel Feraud to tell them
how he came by that very apparent scar on the forehead, were astonished
to find themselves snubbed in various ways, some of which were simply
rude and others mysteriously sardonic. Young officers were warned kindly
by their more experienced comrades not to stare openly at the colonel's
scar. But indeed an officer need have been very young in his profession
not to have heard the legendary tale of that duel originating in a
mysterious, unforgivable offence.

III

The retreat from Moscow submerged all private feelings in a sea of
disaster and misery. Colonels without regiments, D'Hubert and Feraud
carried the musket in the ranks of the so-called sacred battalion--a
battalion recruited from officers of all arms who had no longer any
troops to lead.

In that battalion promoted colonels did duty as sergeants; the generals
captained the companies; a marshal of Fra