A SET OF SIX

By Joseph Conrad

_Les petites marionnettesFont, font, font, Trois petits toursEt puis s'en vont_. --NURSERY RHYME

TO MISS M. H. M. CAPES

AUTHOR'S NOTE

THE six stories in this volume are the result of some three or fouryears of occasional work. The dates of their writing are far apart, their origins are various. None of them are connected directly withpersonal experiences. In all of them the facts are inherently true, bywhich I mean that they are not only possible but that they have actuallyhappened. For instance, the last story in the volume, the one I callPathetic, whose first title is Il Conde (misspelt by-the-by) is analmost verbatim transcript of the tale told me by a very charming oldgentleman whom I met in Italy. I don't mean to say it is only that. Anybody can see that it is something more than a verbatim report, but where he left off and where I began must be left to the acutediscrimination of the reader who may be interested in the problem. I don't mean to say that the problem is worth the trouble. What I amcertain of, however, is that it is not to be solved, for I am not atall clear about it myself by this time. All I can say is that thepersonality of the narrator was extremely suggestive quite apart fromthe story he was telling me. I heard a few years ago that he had diedfar away from his beloved Naples where that "abominable adventure" didreally happen to him. 

Thus the genealogy of Il Conde is simple. It is not the case with theother stories. Various strains contributed to their composition, and thenature of many of those I have forgotten, not having the habit of makingnotes either before or after the fact. I mean the fact of writing astory. What I remember best about Gaspar Ruiz is that it was written, orat any rate begun, within a month of finishing Nostromo; but apartfrom the locality, and that a pretty wide one (all the South AmericanContinent), the novel and the story have nothing in common, neithermood, nor intention and, certainly, not the style. The manner for themost part is that of General Santierra, and that old warrior, I notewith satisfaction, is very true to himself all through. Looking nowdispassionately at the various ways in which this story could have beenpresented I can't honestly think the General superfluous. It is he, anold man talking of the days of his youth, who characterizes the wholenarrative and gives it an air of actuality which I doubt whether I couldhave achieved without his help. In the mere writing his existenceof course was of no help at all, because the whole thing had to becarefully kept within the frame of his simple mind. But all this is buta laborious searching of memories. My present feeling is that the storycould not have been told otherwise. The hint for Gaspar Ruiz the manI found in a book by Captain Basil Hall, R. N. , who was for some time, between the years 1824 and 1828, senior officer of a small BritishSquadron on the West Coast of South America. His book published in thethirties obtained a certain celebrity and I suppose is to be found stillin some libraries. The curious who may be mistrusting my imagination arereferred to that printed document, Vol. II, I forget the page, but itis somewhere not far from the end. Another document connected with thisstory is a letter of a biting and ironic kind from a friend then inBurma, passing certain strictures upon "the gentleman with the gun onhis back" which I do not intend to make accessible to the public. Yetthe gun episode did really happen, or at least I am bound to believe itbecause I remember it, described in an extremely matter-of-fact tone, in some book I read in my boyhood; and I am not going to discard thebeliefs of my boyhood for anybody on earth. 

The Brute, which is the only sea-story in the volume, is, like Il Conde, associated with a direct narrative and based on a suggestion gathered onwarm human lips. I will not disclose the real name of the criminal shipbut the first I heard of her homicidal habits was from the late CaptainBlake, commanding a London ship in which I served in 1884 as SecondOfficer. Captain Blake was, of all my commanders, the one I rememberwith the greatest affection. I have sketched in his personality, withouthowever mentioning his name, in the first paper of The Mirror of theSea. In his young days he had had a personal experience of the brute andit is perhaps for that reason that I have put the story into the mouthof a young man and made of it what the reader will see. The existenceof the brute was a fact. The end of the brute as related in the story isalso a fact, well-known at the time though it really happened toanother ship, of great beauty of form and of blameless character, whichcertainly deserved a better fate. I have unscrupulously adapted it tothe needs of my story thinking that I had there something in the natureof poetical justice. I hope that little villainy will not cast a shadowupon the general honesty of my proceedings as a writer of tales. 

Of The Informer and An Anarchist I will say next to nothing. Thepedigree of these tales is hopelessly complicated and not worthdisentangling at this distance of time. I found them and here they are. The discriminating reader will guess that I have found them within mymind; but how they or their elements came in there I have forgotten forthe most part; and for the rest I really don't see why I should givemyself away more than I have done already. 

It remains for me only now to mention The Duel, the longest story in thebook. That story attained the dignity of publication all by itself in asmall illustrated volume, under the title, "The Point of Honour. " Thatwas many years ago. It has been since reinstated in its proper place, which is the place it occupies in this volume, in all the subsequenteditions of my work. Its pedigree is extremely simple. It springs from aten-line paragraph in a small provincial paper published in the South ofFrance. That paragraph, occasioned by a duel with a fatal ending betweentwo well-known Parisian personalities, referred for some reason or otherto the "well-known fact" of two officers in Napoleon's Grand Army havingfought a series of duels in the midst of great wars and on some futilepretext. The pretext was never disclosed. I had therefore to invent it;and I think that, given the character of the two officers which I had toinvent, too, I have made it sufficiently convincing by the mere force ofits absurdity. The truth is that in my mind the story is nothing but aserious and even earnest attempt at a bit of historical fiction. I hadheard in my boyhood a good deal of the great Napoleonic legend. I had agenuine feeling that I would find myself at home in it, and The Duelis the result of that feeling, or, if the reader prefers, of thatpresumption. Personally I have no qualms of conscience about this pieceof work. The story might have been better told of course. All one's workmight have been better done; but this is the sort of reflection aworker must put aside courageously if he doesn't mean every one of hisconceptions to remain for ever a private vision, an evanescent reverie. How many of those visions have I seen vanish in my time! This one, however, has remained, a testimony, if you like, to my courage or aproof of my rashness. What I care to remember best is the testimony ofsome French readers who volunteered the opinion that in those hundredpages or so I had managed to render "wonderfully" the spirit of thewhole epoch. Exaggeration of kindness no doubt; but even so I hug itstill to my breast, because in truth that is exactly what I was tryingto capture in my small net: the Spirit of the Epoch--never purelymilitarist in the long clash of arms, youthful, almost childlike in itsexaltation of sentiment--naively heroic in its faith. 

1920. J. C. 

CONTENTS

GASPAR RUIZ

THE INFORMER

THE BRUTE

AN ANARCHIST

THE DUEL

IL CONDE

A SET OF SIX

GASPAR RUIZ

I

A revolutionary war raises many strange characters out of the obscuritywhich is the common lot of humble lives in an undisturbed state ofsociety. 

Certain individualities grow into fame through their vices and theirvirtues, or simply by their actions, which may have a temporaryimportance; and then they become forgotten. The names of a few leadersalone survive the end of armed strife and are further preserved inhistory; so that, vanishing from men's active memories, they still existin books. 

The name of General Santierra attained that cold paper-and-inkimmortality. He was a South American of good family, and the bookspublished in his lifetime numbered him amongst the liberators of thatcontinent from the oppressive rule of Spain. 

That long contest, waged for independence on one side and for dominionon the other, developed in the course of years and the vicissitudes ofchanging fortune the fierceness and inhumanity of a struggle forlife. All feelings of pity and compassion disappeared in the growth ofpolitical hatred. And, as is usual in war, the mass of the people, who had the least to gain by the issue, suffered most in their obscurepersons and their humble fortunes. 

General Santierra began his service as lieutenant in the patriot armyraised and commanded by the famous San Martin, afterwards conqueror ofLima and liberator of Peru. A great battle had just been fought on thebanks of the river Bio-Bio. Amongst the prisoners made upon the routedRoyalist troops there was a soldier called Gaspar Ruiz. His powerfulbuild and his big head rendered him remarkable amongst hisfellow-captives. The personality of the man was unmistakable. Somemonths before he had been missed from the ranks of Republican troopsafter one of the many skirmishes which preceded the great battle. Andnow, having been captured arms in hand amongst Royalists, he couldexpect no other fate but to be shot as a deserter. 

Gaspar Ruiz, however, was not a deserter; his mind was hardly activeenough to take a discriminating view of the advantages or perilsof treachery. Why should he change sides? He had really been made aprisoner, had suffered ill-usage and many privations. Neither sideshowed tenderness to its adversaries. There came a day when he wasordered, together with some other captured rebels, to march in the frontrank of the Royal troops. A musket had been thrust into his hands. He had taken it. He had marched. He did not want to be killed withcircumstances of peculiar atrocity for refusing to march. He did notunderstand heroism but it was his intention to throw his musket away atthe first opportunity. Meantime he had gone on loading and firing, fromfear of having his brains blown out at the first sign of unwillingness, by some non-commissioned officer of the King of Spain. He tried to setforth these elementary considerations before the sergeant of theguard set over him and some twenty other such deserters, who had beencondemned summarily to be shot. 

It was in the quadrangle of the fort at the back of the batteries whichcommand the roadstead of Valparaiso. The officer who had identified himhad gone on without listening to his protestations. His doom was sealed;his hands were tied very tightly together behind his back; his body wassore all over from the many blows with sticks and butts of muskets whichhad hurried him along on the painful road from the place of his captureto the gate of the fort. This was the only kind of systematic attentionthe prisoners had received from their escort during a four days' journeyacross a scantily watered tract of country. At the crossings of rarestreams they were permitted to quench their thirst by lapping hurriedlylike dogs. In the evening a few scraps of meat were thrown amongstthem as they dropped down dead-beat upon the stony ground of thehalting-place. 

As he stood in the courtyard of the castle in the early morning, afterhaving been driven hard all night, Gaspar Ruiz's throat was parched, andhis tongue felt very large and dry in his mouth. 

And Gaspar Ruiz, besides being very thirsty, was stirred by a feelingof sluggish anger, which he could not very well express, as though thevigour of his spirit were by no means equal to the strength of his body. 

The other prisoners in the batch of the condemned hung their heads, looking obstinately on the ground. But Gaspar Ruiz kept on repeating:"What should I desert for to the Royalists? Why should I desert? Tellme, Estaban!"

He addressed himself to the sergeant, who happened to belong to the samepart of the country as himself. But the sergeant, after shrugging hismeagre shoulders once, paid no further attention to the deep murmuringvoice at his back. It was indeed strange that Gaspar Ruiz should desert. His people were in too humble a station to feel much the disadvantagesof any form of government. There was no reason why Gaspar Ruiz shouldwish to uphold in his own person the rule of the King of Spain. Neitherhad he been anxious to exert himself for its subversion. He had joinedthe side of Independence in an extremely reasonable and natural manner. A band of patriots appeared one morning early, surrounding his father'sranche, spearing the watch-dogs and ham-stringing a fat cow all in thetwinkling of an eye, to the cries of "Viva la Libertad!" Their officerdiscoursed of Liberty with enthusiasm and eloquence after a long andrefreshing sleep. When they left in the evening, taking with them someof Ruiz, the father's, best horses to replace their own lamed animals, Gaspar Ruiz went away with them, having been invited pressingly to do soby the eloquent officer. 

Shortly afterwards a detachment of Royalist troops coming to pacify thedistrict, burnt the ranche, carried off the remaining horses andcattle, and having thus deprived the old people of all their worldlypossessions, left them sitting under a bush in the enjoyment of theinestimable boon of life. 

II

Gaspar Ruiz, condemned to death as a deserter, was not thinking eitherof his native place or of his parents, to whom he had been a good son onaccount of the mildness of his character and the great strength of hislimbs. The practical advantage of this last was made still morevaluable to his father by his obedient disposition. Gaspar Ruiz had anacquiescent soul. 

But it was stirred now to a sort of dim revolt by his dislike to die thedeath of a traitor. He was not a traitor. He said again to the sergeant:"You know I did not desert, Estaban. You know I remained behind amongstthe trees with three others to keep the enemy back while the detachmentwas running away!"

Lieutenant Santierra, little more than a boy at the time, and unused asyet to the sanguinary imbecilities of a state of war, had lingerednear by, as if fascinated by the sight of these men who were to be shotpresently--"for an example"--as the Commandante had said. 

The sergeant, without deigning to look at the prisoner, addressedhimself to the young officer with a superior smile. 

"Ten men would not have been enough to make him a prisoner, mi teniente. Moreover, the other three rejoined the detachment after dark. Why shouldhe, unwounded and the strongest of them all, have failed to do so?"

"My strength is as nothing against a mounted man with a lasso, " GasparRuiz protested, eagerly. "He dragged me behind his horse for half amile. "

At this excellent reason the sergeant only laughed contemptuously. Theyoung officer hurried away after the Commandante. 

Presently the adjutant of the castle came by. He was a truculent, raw-boned man in a ragged uniform. His spluttering voice issued out ofa flat yellow face. The sergeant learned from him that the condemned menwould not be shot till sunset. He begged then to know what he was to dowith them meantime. 

The adjutant looked savagely round the courtyard and, pointing to thedoor of a small dungeon-like guardroom, receiving light and air throughone heavily barred window, said: "Drive the scoundrels in there. "

The sergeant, tightening his grip upon the stick he carried in virtueof his rank, executed this order with alacrity and zeal. He hit GasparRuiz, whose movements were slow, over his head and shoulders. GasparRuiz stood still for a moment under the shower of blows, biting hislip thoughtfully as if absorbed by a perplexing mental process--thenfollowed the others without haste. The door was locked, and the adjutantcarried off the key. 

By noon the heat of that vaulted place crammed to suffocation had becomeunbearable. The prisoners crowded towards the window, begging theirguards for a drop of water; but the soldiers remained lying in indolentattitudes wherever there was a little shade under a wall, while thesentry sat with his back against the door smoking a cigarette, andraising his eyebrows philosophically from time to time. Gaspar Ruizhad pushed his way to the window with irresistible force. His capaciouschest needed more air than the others; his big face, resting with itschin on the ledge, pressed close to the bars, seemed to support theother faces crowding up for breath. From moaned entreaties they hadpassed to desperate cries, and the tumultuous howling of those thirstymen obliged a young officer who was just then crossing the courtyard toshout in order to make himself heard. 

"Why don't you give some water to these prisoners?"

The sergeant, with an air of surprised innocence, excused himself by theremark that all those men were condemned to die in a very few hours. 

Lieutenant Santierra stamped his foot. "They are condemned to death, notto torture, " he shouted. "Give them some water at once. "

Impressed by this appearance of anger, the soldiers bestirredthemselves, and the sentry, snatching up his musket, stood to attention. 

But when a couple of buckets were found and filled from the well, it wasdiscovered that they could not be passed through the bars, which wereset too close. At the prospect of quenching their thirst, the shrieks ofthose trampled down in the struggle to get near the opening became veryheartrending. But when the soldiers who had lifted the buckets towardsthe window put them to the ground again helplessly, the yell ofdisappointment was still more terrible. 

The soldiers of the army of Independence were not equipped withcanteens. A small tin cup was found, but its approach to the openingcaused such a commotion, such yells of rage and pain in the vague massof limbs behind the straining faces at the window, that LieutenantSantierra cried out hurriedly, "No, no--you must open the door, sergeant. "

The sergeant, shrugging his shoulders, explained that he had no rightto open the door even if he had had the key. But he had not the key. The adjutant of the garrison kept the key. Those men were giving muchunnecessary trouble, since they had to die at sunset in any case. Why they had not been shot at once early in the morning he could notunderstand. 

Lieutenant Santierra kept his back studiously to the window. It wasat his earnest solicitations that the Commandante had delayed theexecution. This favour had been granted to him in consideration ofhis distinguished family and of his father's high position amongst thechiefs of the Republican party. Lieutenant Santierra believed that theGeneral commanding would visit the fort some time in the afternoon, and he ingenuously hoped that his naive intercession would inducethat severe man to pardon some, at least, of those criminals. In therevulsion of his feeling his interference stood revealed now as guiltyand futile meddling. It appeared to him obvious that the general wouldnever even consent to listen to his petition. He could never save thosemen, and he had only made himself responsible for the sufferings addedto the cruelty of their fate. 

"Then go at once and get the key from the adjutant, " said LieutenantSantierra. 

The sergeant shook his head with a sort of bashful smile, while his eyesglanced sideways at Gaspar Ruiz's face, motionless and silent, staringthrough the bars at the bottom of a heap of other haggard, distorted, yelling faces. 

His worship the adjutant de Plaza, the sergeant murmured, was having hissiesta; and supposing that he, the sergeant, would be allowed access tohim, the only result he expected would be to have his soul flogged outof his body for presuming to disturb his worship's repose. He made adeprecatory movement with his hands, and stood stock-still, looking downmodestly upon his brown toes. 

Lieutenant Santierra glared with indignation, but hesitated. Hishandsome oval face, as smooth as a girl's, flushed with the shame ofhis perplexity. Its nature humiliated his spirit. His hairless upper liptrembled; he seemed on the point of either bursting into a fit of rageor into tears of dismay. 

Fifty years later, General Santierra, the venerable relic ofrevolutionary times, was well able to remember the feelings of theyoung lieutenant. Since he had given up riding altogether, and foundit difficult to walk beyond the limits of his garden, the general'sgreatest delight was to entertain in his house the officers of theforeign men-of-war visiting the harbour. For Englishmen he had apreference, as for old companions in arms. English naval men of allranks accepted his hospitality with curiosity, because he had known LordCochrane and had taken part, on board the patriot squadron commandedby that marvellous seaman, in the cutting out and blockading operationsbefore Callao--an episode of unalloyed glory in the wars of Independenceand of endless honour in the fighting tradition of Englishmen. He was afair linguist, this ancient survivor of the Liberating armies. A trickof smoothing his long white beard whenever he was short of a word inFrench or English imparted an air of leisurely dignity to the tone ofhis reminiscences. 

III

"Yes, my friends, " he used to say to his guests, "what would you have?A youth of seventeen summers, without worldly experience, and owingmy rank only to the glorious patriotism of my father, may God rest hissoul. I suffered immense humiliation, not so much from the disobedienceof that subordinate, who, after all, was responsible for thoseprisoners; but I suffered because, like the boy I was, I myself dreadedgoing to the adjutant for the key. I had felt, before, his rough andcutting tongue. Being quite a common fellow, with no merit except hissavage valour, he made me feel his contempt and dislike from thefirst day I joined my battalion in garrison at the fort. It was onlya fortnight before! I would have confronted him sword in hand, but Ishrank from the mocking brutality of his sneers. 

"I don't remember having been so miserable in my life before or since. The torment of my sensibility was so great that I wished the sergeant tofall dead at my feet, and the stupid soldiers who stared at me toturn into corpses; and even those wretches for whom my entreaties hadprocured a reprieve I wished dead also, because I could not face themwithout shame. A mephitic heat like a whiff of air from hell came out ofthat dark place in which they were confined. Those at the window who hadheard what was going on jeered at me in very desperation: one of thesefellows, gone mad no doubt, kept on urging me volubly to order thesoldiers to fire through the window. His insane loquacity made my heartturn faint. And my feet were like lead. There was no higher officer towhom I could appeal. I had not even the firmness of spirit to simply goaway. 

"Benumbed by my remorse, I stood with my back to the window. You mustnot suppose that all this lasted a long time. How long could it havebeen? A minute? If you measured by mental suffering it was like ahundred years; a longer time than all my life has been since. No, certainly, it was not so much as a minute. The hoarse screaming of thosemiserable wretches died out in their dry throats, and then suddenly avoice spoke, a deep voice muttering calmly. It called upon me to turnround. 

"That voice, senores, proceeded from the head of Gaspar Ruiz. Of hisbody I could see nothing. Some of his fellow-captives had clambered uponhis back. He was holding them up. His eyes blinked without looking atme. That and the moving of his lips was all he seemed able to manage inhis overloaded state. And when I turned round, this head, that seemedmore than human size resting on its chin under a multitude of otherheads, asked me whether I really desired to quench the thirst of thecaptives. 

"I said, 'Yes, yes!' eagerly, and came up quite close to the window. Iwas like a child, and did not know what would happen. I was anxious tobe comforted in my helplessness and remorse. 

"'Have you the authority, Senor teniente, to release my wrists fromtheir bonds?' Gaspar Ruiz's head asked me. 

"His features expressed no anxiety, no hope; his heavy eyelids blinkedupon his eyes that looked past me straight into the courtyard. 

"As if in an ugly dream, I spoke, stammering: 'What do you mean? And howcan I reach the bonds on your wrists?'

"'I will try what I can do, ' he said; and then that large staringhead moved at last, and all the wild faces piled up in that windowdisappeared, tumbling down. He had shaken his load off with onemovement, so strong he was. 

"And he had not only shaken it off, but he got free of the crush andvanished from my sight. For a moment there was no one at all to be seenat the window. He had swung about, butting and shouldering, clearinga space for himself in the only way he could do it with his hands tiedbehind his back. 

"Finally, backing to the opening, he pushed out to me between the barshis wrists, lashed with many turns of rope. His hands, very swollen, with knotted veins, looked enormous and unwieldy. I saw his bent back. It was very broad. His voice was like the muttering of a bull. 

"'Cut, Senor teniente. Cut!'

"I drew my sword, my new unblunted sword that had seen no service asyet, and severed the many turns of the hide rope. I did this withoutknowing the why and the wherefore of my action, but as it were compelledby my faith in that man. The sergeant made as if to cry out, butastonishment deprived him of his voice, and he remained standing withhis mouth open as if overtaken by sudden imbecility. 

"I sheathed my sword and faced the soldiers. An air of awestruckexpectation had replaced their usual listless apathy. I heard the voiceof Gaspar Ruiz shouting inside, but the words I could not make outplainly. I suppose that to see him with his arms free augmented theinfluence of his strength: I mean by this, the spiritual influence thatwith ignorant people attaches to an exceptional degree of bodily vigour. In fact, he was no more to be feared than before, on account of thenumbness of his arms and hands, which lasted for some time. 

"The sergeant had recovered his power of speech. 'By all the saints!'he cried, 'we shall have to get a cavalry man with a lasso to secure himagain, if he is to be led to the place of execution. Nothing less than agood enlazador on a good horse can subdue him. Your worship was pleasedto perform a very mad thing. '

"I had nothing to say. I was surprised myself, and I felt a childishcuriosity to see what would happen next. But the sergeant was thinkingof the difficulty of controlling Gaspar Ruiz when the time for making anexample would come. 

"'Or perhaps, ' the sergeant pursued, vexedly, 'we shall be obliged toshoot him down as he dashes out when the door is opened. ' He was goingto give further vent to his anxieties as to the proper carrying outof the sentence; but he interrupted himself with a sudden exclamation, snatched a musket from a soldier, and stood watchful with his eyes fixedon the window. "

IV

"Gaspar Ruiz had clambered up on the sill, and sat down there with hisfeet against the thickness of the wall and his knees slightly bent. The window was not quite broad enough for the length of his legs. Itappeared to my crestfallen perception that he meant to keep the windowall to himself. He seemed to be taking up a comfortable position. Nobodyinside dared to approach him now he could strike with his hands. 

"'Por Dios!' I heard the sergeant muttering at my elbow, 'I shall shoothim through the head now, and get rid of that trouble. He is a condemnedman. '

"At that I looked at him angrily. 'The general has not confirmed thesentence, ' I said--though I knew well in my heart that these were butvain words. The sentence required no confirmation. 'You have no right toshoot him unless he tries to escape, ' I added, firmly. 

"'But sangre de Dios!' the sergeant yelled out, bringing his musket upto the shoulder, 'he is escaping now. Look!'

"But I, as if that Gaspar Ruiz had cast a spell upon me, struck themusket upward, and the bullet flew over the roofs somewhere. Thesergeant dashed his arm to the ground and stared. He might havecommanded the soldiers to fire, but he did not. And if he had he wouldnot have been obeyed, I think, just then. 

"With his feet against the thickness of the wall and his hairy handsgrasping the iron bar, Gaspar sat still. It was an attitude. Nothinghappened for a time. And suddenly it dawned upon us that he wasstraightening his bowed back and contracting his arms. His lips weretwisted into a snarl. Next thing we perceived was that the bar of forgediron was being bent slowly by the mightiness of his pull. The sunwas beating full upon his cramped, unquivering figure. A shower ofsweat-drops burst out of his forehead. Watching the bar grow crooked, Isaw a little blood ooze from under his finger-nails. Then he let go. For a moment he remained all huddled up, with a hanging head, lookingdrowsily into the upturned palms of his mighty hands. Indeed he seemedto have dozed off. Suddenly he flung himself backwards on the sill, andsetting the soles of his bare feet against the other middle bar, he bentthat one, too, but in the opposite direction from the first. 

"Such was his strength, which in this case relieved my painful feelings. And the man seemed to have done nothing. Except for the change ofposition in order to use his feet, which made us all start by itsswiftness, my recollection is that of immobility. But he had bent thebars wide apart. And now he could get out if he liked; but he droppedhis legs inwards, and looking over his shoulder beckoned to thesoldiers. 'Hand up the water, ' he said. 'I will give them all a drink. '

"He was obeyed. For a moment I expected man and bucket to disappear, overwhelmed by the rush of eagerness; I thought they would pull him downwith their teeth. There was a rush, but holding the bucket on his lap herepulsed the assault of those wretches by the mere swinging of his feet. They flew backwards at every kick, yelling with pain; and the soldierslaughed, gazing at the window. 

"They all laughed, holding their sides, except the sergeant, who wasgloomy and morose. He was afraid the prisoners would rise and breakout--which would have been a bad example. But there was no fear ofthat, and I stood myself before the window with my drawn sword. Whensufficiently tamed by the strength of Gaspar Ruiz they came up one byone, stretching their necks and presenting their lips to the edge of thebucket which the strong man tilted towards them from his knees withan extraordinary air of charity, gentleness, and compassion. Thatbenevolent appearance was of course the effect of his care in notspilling the water and of his attitude as he sat on the sill; for, if aman lingered with his lips glued to the rim of the bucket after GasparRuiz had said 'You have had enough, ' there would be no tenderness ormercy in the shove of the foot which would send him groaning and doubledup far into the interior of the prison, where he would knock down twoor three others before he fell himself. They came up to him again andagain; it looked as if they meant to drink the well dry before going totheir death; but the soldiers were so amused by Gaspar Ruiz's systematicproceedings that they carried the water up to the window cheerfully. 

"When the adjutant came out after his siesta there was some trouble overthis affair, I can assure you. And the worst of it was that the generalwhom we expected never came to the castle that day. "

The guests of General Santierra unanimously expressed their regret thatthe man of such strength and patience had not been saved. 

"He was not saved by my interference, " said the General. "The prisonerswere led to execution half an hour before sunset. Gaspar Ruiz, contraryto the sergeant's apprehensions, gave no trouble. There was no necessityto get a cavalry man with a lasso in order to subdue him, as if he werea wild bull of the campo. I believe he marched out with his arms freeamongst the others who were bound. I did not see. I was not there. I hadbeen put under arrest for interfering with the prisoner's guard. Aboutdusk, sitting dismally in my quarters, I heard three volleys fired, andthought that I should never hear of Gaspar Ruiz again. He fell with theothers. But we were to hear of him nevertheless, though the sergeantboasted that as he lay on his face expiring or dead in the heap of theslain, he had slashed his neck with a sword. He had done this, he said, to make sure of ridding the world of a dangerous traitor. 

"I confess to you, senores, that I thought of that strong man with asort of gratitude, and with some admiration. He had used his strengthhonourably. There dwelt, then, in his soul no fierceness correspondingto the vigour of his body. "

V

Gaspar Ruiz, who could with ease bend apart the heavy iron bars of theprison, was led out with others to summary execution. "Every bullet hasits billet, " runs the proverb. All the merit of proverbs consists inthe concise and picturesque expression. In the surprise of our minds isfound their persuasiveness. In other words, we are struck and convincedby the shock. 

What surprises us is the form, not the substance. Proverbs areart--cheap art. As a general rule they are not true; unless indeed theyhappen to be mere platitudes, as for instance the proverb, "Half aloaf is better than no bread, " or "A miss is as good as a mile. " Someproverbs are simply imbecile, others are immoral. That one evolved outof the naive heart of the great Russian people, "Man discharges thepiece, but God carries the bullet, " is piously atrocious, and at bittervariance with the accepted conception of a compassionate God. It wouldindeed be an inconsistent occupation for the Guardian of the poor, theinnocent, and the helpless, to carry the bullet, for instance, into theheart of a father. 

Gaspar Ruiz was childless, he had no wife, he had never been in love. He had hardly ever spoken to a woman, beyond his mother and the ancientnegress of the household, whose wrinkled skin was the colour of cinders, and whose lean body was bent double from age. If some bullets from thosemuskets fired off at fifteen paces were specifically destined forthe heart of Gaspar Ruiz, they all missed their billet. One, however, carried away a small piece of his ear, and another a fragment of fleshfrom his shoulder. 

A red and unclouded sun setting into a purple ocean looked with a fierystare upon the enormous wall of the Cordilleras, worthy witnesses of hisglorious extinction. But it is inconceivable that it should have seenthe ant-like men busy with their absurd and insignificant trials ofkilling and dying for reasons that, apart from being generally childish, were also imperfectly understood. It did light up, however, the backsof the firing party and the faces of the condemned men. Some of themhad fallen on their knees, others remained standing, a few averted theirheads from the levelled barrels of muskets. Gaspar Ruiz, upright, theburliest of them all, hung his big shock head. The low sun dazzled him alittle, and he counted himself a dead man already. 

He fell at the first discharge. He fell because he thought he was a deadman. He struck the ground heavily. The jar of the fall surprised him. "I am not dead apparently, " he thought to himself, when he heard theexecution platoon reloading its arms at the word of command. It was thenthat the hope of escape dawned upon him for the first time. He remainedlying stretched out with rigid limbs under the weight of two bodiescollapsed crosswise upon his back. 

By the time the soldiers had fired a third volley into the slightlystirring heaps of the slain, the sun had gone out of sight, and almostimmediately with the darkening of the ocean dusk fell upon the coasts ofthe young Republic. Above the gloom of the lowlands the snowy peaksof the Cordilleras remained luminous and crimson for a long time. Thesoldiers before marching back to the fort sat down to smoke. 

The sergeant with a naked sword in his hand strolled away by himselfalong the heap of the dead. He was a humane man, and watched for anystir or twitch of limb in the merciful idea of plunging the point of hisblade into any body giving the slightest sign of life. But none of thebodies afforded him an opportunity for the display of this charitableintention. Not a muscle twitched amongst them, not even the powerfulmuscles of Gaspar Ruiz, who, deluged with the blood of his neighboursand shamming death, strove to appear more lifeless than the others. 

He was lying face down. The sergeant recognized him by his stature, andbeing himself a very small man, looked with envy and contempt at theprostration of so much strength. He had always disliked that particularsoldier. Moved by an obscure animosity, he inflicted a long gash acrossthe neck of Gaspar Ruiz, with some vague notion of making sure of thatstrong man's death, as if a powerful physique were more able to resistthe bullets. For the sergeant had no doubt that Gaspar Ruiz had beenshot through in many places. Then he passed on, and shortly afterwardsmarched off with his men, leaving the bodies to the care of crows andvultures. 

Gaspar Ruiz had restrained a cry, though it had seemed to him that hishead was cut off at a blow; and when darkness came, shaking off thedead, whose weight had oppressed him, he crawled away over the plain onhis hands and knees. After drinking deeply, like a wounded beast, ata shallow stream, he assumed an upright posture, and staggered onlight-headed and aimless, as if lost amongst the stars of the clearnight. A small house seemed to rise out of the ground before him. Hestumbled into the porch and struck at the door with his fist. Therewas not a gleam of light. Gaspar Ruiz might have thought that theinhabitants had fled from it, as from many others in the neighbourhood, had it not been for the shouts of abuse that answered his thumping. Inhis feverish and enfeebled state the angry screaming seemed to him partof a hallucination belonging to the weird, dreamlike feeling of hisunexpected condemnation to death, of the thirst suffered, of the volleysfired at him within fifteen paces, of his head being cut off at a blow. "Open the door!" he cried. "Open in the name of God!"

An infuriated voice from within jeered at him: "Come in, come in. Thishouse belongs to you. All this land belongs to you. Come and take it. "

"For the love of God, " Gaspar Ruiz murmured. 

"Does not all the land belong to you patriots?" the voice on the otherside of the door screamed on. "Are you not a patriot?"

Gaspar Ruiz did not know. "I am a wounded man, " he said, apathetically. 

All became still inside. Gaspar Ruiz lost the hope of being admitted, and lay down under the porch just outside the door. He was utterlycareless of what was going to happen to him. All his consciousnessseemed to be concentrated in his neck, where he felt a severe pain. Hisindifference as to his fate was genuine. The day was breaking when heawoke from a feverish doze; the door at which he had knocked in the darkstood wide open now, and a girl, steadying herself with her outspreadarms, leaned over the threshold. Lying on his back, he stared up at her. Her face was pale and her eyes were very dark; her hair hung down blackas ebony against her white cheeks; her lips were full and red. Beyondher he saw another head with long grey hair, and a thin old face with apair of anxiously clasped hands under the chin. 

VI

"I knew those people by sight, " General Santierra would tell his guestsat the dining-table. "I mean the people with whom Gaspar Ruiz foundshelter. The father was an old Spaniard, a man of property ruined by therevolution. His estates, his house in town, his money, everything he hadin the world had been confiscated by proclamation, for he was a bitterfoe of our independence. From a position of great dignity and influenceon the Viceroy's Council he became of less importance than his own negroslaves made free by our glorious revolution. He had not even the meansto flee the country, as other Spaniards had managed to do. It may bethat, wandering ruined and houseless, and burdened with nothing buthis life, which was left to him by the clemency of the ProvisionalGovernment, he had simply walked under that broken roof of old tiles. Itwas a lonely spot. There did not seem to be even a dog belonging to theplace. But though the roof had holes, as if a cannon-ball or two haddropped through it, the wooden shutters were thick and tight-closed allthe time. 

"My way took me frequently along the path in front of that miserablerancho. I rode from the fort to the town almost every evening, to sighat the window of a lady I was in love with, then. When one is young, youunderstand. . . . She was a good patriot, you may believe. Caballeros, credit me or not, political feeling ran so high in those days that Ido not believe I could have been fascinated by the charms of a woman ofRoyalist opinions. . . . "

Murmurs of amused incredulity all round the table interrupted theGeneral; and while they lasted he stroked his white beard gravely. 

"Senores, " he protested, "a Royalist was a monster to our overwroughtfeelings. I am telling you this in order not to be suspected of theslightest tenderness towards that old Royalist's daughter. Moreover, as you know, my affections were engaged elsewhere. But I could not helpnoticing her on rare occasions when with the front door open she stoodin the porch. 

"You must know that this old Royalist was as crazy as a man can be. Hispolitical misfortunes, his total downfall and ruin, had disordered hismind. To show his contempt for what we patriots could do, he affected tolaugh at his imprisonment, at the confiscation of his lands, the burningof his houses, and at the misery to which he and his womenfolk werereduced. This habit of laughing had grown upon him, so that he wouldbegin to laugh and shout directly he caught sight of any stranger. Thatwas the form of his madness. 

"I, of course, disregarded the noise of that madman with that feeling ofsuperiority the success of our cause inspired in us Americans. I supposeI really despised him because he was an old Castilian, a Spaniard born, and a Royalist. Those were certainly no reasons to scorn a man; but forcenturies Spaniards born had shown their contempt of us Americans, menas well descended as themselves, simply because we were what theycalled colonists. We had been kept in abasement and made to feel ourinferiority in social intercourse. And now it was our turn. It was safefor us patriots to display the same sentiments; and I being a youngpatriot, son of a patriot, despised that old Spaniard, and despisinghim I naturally disregarded his abuse, though it was annoying to myfeelings. Others perhaps would not have been so forbearing. 

"He would begin with a great yell--'I see a patriot. Another of them!'long before I came abreast of the house. The tone of his senselessrevilings, mingled with bursts of laughter, was sometimes piercinglyshrill and sometimes grave. It was all very mad; but I felt it incumbentupon my dignity to check my horse to a walk without even glancingtowards the house, as if that man's abusive clamour in the porchwere less than the barking of a cur. Always I rode by preserving anexpression of haughty indifference on my face. 

"It was no doubt very dignified; but I should have done better if Ihad kept my eyes open. A military man in war time should never considerhimself off duty; and especially so if the war is a revolutionary war, when the enemy is not at the door, but within your very house. At suchtimes the heat of passionate convictions passing into hatred, removesthe restraints of honour and humanity from many men and of delicacy andfear from some women. These last, when once they throw off the timidityand reserve of their sex, become by the vivacity of their intelligenceand the violence of their merciless resentment more dangerous than somany armed giants. "

The General's voice rose, but his big hand stroked his white beard twicewith an effect of venerable calmness. "Si, Senores! Women are ready torise to the heights of devotion unattainable by us men, or to sink intothe depths of abasement which amazes our masculine prejudices. I amspeaking now of exceptional women, you understand. . . . "

Here one of the guests observed that he had never met a woman yet whowas not capable of turning out quite exceptional under circumstancesthat would engage her feelings strongly. "That sort of superiority inrecklessness they have over us, " he concluded, "makes of them the moreinteresting half of mankind. "

The General, who bore the interruption with gravity, nodded courteousassent. "Si. Si. Under circumstances. . . . Precisely. They can do aninfinite deal of mischief sometimes in quite unexpected ways. For whocould have imagined that a young girl, daughter of a ruined Royalistwhose life was held only by the contempt of his enemies, would have hadthe power to bring death and devastation upon two flourishing provincesand cause serious anxiety to the leaders of the revolution in the veryhour of its success!" He paused to let the wonder of it penetrate ourminds. 

"Death and devastation, " somebody murmured in surprise: "how shocking!"

The old General gave a glance in the direction of the murmur and wenton. "Yes. That is, war--calamity. But the means by which she obtainedthe power to work this havoc on our southern frontier seem to me, whohave seen her and spoken to her, still more shocking. That particularthing left on my mind a dreadful amazement which the further experienceof life, of more than fifty years, has done nothing to diminish. " Helooked round as if to make sure of our attention, and, in a changedvoice: "I am, as you know, a republican, son of a Liberator, " hedeclared. "My incomparable mother, God rest her soul, was a Frenchwoman, the daughter of an ardent republican. As a boy I fought for liberty;I've always believed in the equality of men; and as to theirbrotherhood, that, to my mind, is even more certain. Look at the fierceanimosity they display in their differences. And what in the world doyou know that is more bitterly fierce than brothers' quarrels?"

All absence of cynicism checked an inclination to smile at this view ofhuman brotherhood. On the contrary, there was in the tone the melancholynatural to a man profoundly humane at heart who from duty, fromconviction, and from necessity, had played his part in scenes ofruthless violence. 

The General had seen much of fratricidal strife. "Certainly. There is nodoubt of their brotherhood, " he insisted. "All men are brothers, andas such know almost too much of each other. But"--and here in theold patriarchal head, white as silver, the black eyes humorouslytwinkled--"if we are all brothers, all the women are not our sisters. "

One of the younger guests was heard murmuring his satisfaction at thefact. But the General continued, with deliberate earnestness: "They areso different! The tale of a king who took a beggar-maid for a partner ofhis throne may be pretty enough as we men look upon ourselves and uponlove. But that a young girl, famous for her haughty beauty and, onlya short time before, the admired of all at the balls in the Viceroy'spalace, should take by the hand a guasso, a common peasant, isintolerable to our sentiment of women and their love. It is madness. Nevertheless it happened. But it must be said that in her case it wasthe madness of hate--not of love. "

After presenting this excuse in a spirit of chivalrous justice, theGeneral remained silent for a time. "I rode past the house every dayalmost, " he began again, "and this was what was going on within. But howit was going on no mind of man can conceive. Her desperation musthave been extreme, and Gaspar Ruiz was a docile fellow. He had been anobedient soldier. His strength was like an enormous stone lying on theground, ready to be hurled this way or that by the hand that picks itup. 

"It is clear that he would tell his story to the people who gave himthe shelter he needed. And he needed assistance badly. His wound was notdangerous, but his life was forfeited. The old Royalist being wrapped upin his laughing madness, the two women arranged a hiding-place for thewounded man in one of the huts amongst the fruit trees at the back ofthe house. That hovel, an abundance of clear water while the fever wason him, and some words of pity were all they could give. I supposehe had a share of what food there was. And it would be but little: ahandful of roasted corn, perhaps a dish of beans, or a piece of breadwith a few figs. To such misery were those proud and once wealthy peoplereduced. "

VII

General Santierra was right in his surmise. Such was the exact nature ofthe assistance which Gaspar Ruiz, peasant son of peasants, receivedfrom the Royalist family whose daughter had opened the door of theirmiserable refuge to his extreme distress. Her sombre resolution ruledthe madness of her father and the trembling bewilderment of her mother. 

She had asked the strange man on the doorstep, "Who wounded you?"

"The soldiers, senora, " Gaspar Ruiz had answered, in a faint voice. 

"Patriots?"

"Si. "

"What for?"

"Deserter, " he gasped, leaning against the wall under the scrutiny ofher black eyes. "I was left for dead over there. "

She led him through the house out to a small hut of clay and reeds, lostin the long grass of the overgrown orchard. He sank on a heap of maizestraw in a corner, and sighed profoundly. 

"No one will look for you here, " she said, looking down at him. "Nobodycomes near us. We, too, have been left for dead--here. "

He stirred uneasily on his heap of dirty straw, and the pain in his neckmade him groan deliriously. 

"I shall show Estaban some day that I am alive yet, " he mumbled. 

He accepted her assistance in silence, and the many days of pain wentby. Her appearances in the hut brought him relief and became connectedwith the feverish dreams of angels which visited his couch; for GasparRuiz was instructed in the mysteries of his religion, and had evenbeen taught to read and write a little by the priest of his village. Hewaited for her with impatience, and saw her pass out of the dark hut anddisappear in the brilliant sunshine with poignant regret. He discoveredthat, while he lay there feeling so very weak, he could, by closing hiseyes, evoke her face with considerable distinctness. And this discoveredfaculty charmed the long, solitary hours of his convalescence. Later on, when he began to regain his strength, he would creep at dusk from hishut to the house and sit on the step of the garden door. 

In one of the rooms the mad father paced to and fro, muttering tohimself with short, abrupt laughs. In the passage, sitting on astool, the mother sighed and moaned. The daughter, in rough threadbareclothing, and her white haggard face half hidden by a coarse manta, stood leaning against the side of the door. Gaspar Ruiz, with his elbowspropped on his knees and his head resting in his hands, talked to thetwo women in an undertone. 

The common misery of destitution would have made a bitter mockery of amarked insistence on social differences. Gaspar Ruiz understood this inhis simplicity. From his captivity amongst the Royalists he could givethem news of people they knew. He described their appearance; and whenhe related the story of the battle in which he was recaptured the twowomen lamented the blow to their cause and the ruin of their secrethopes. 

He had no feeling either way. But he felt a great devotion for thatyoung girl. In his desire to appear worthy of her condescension, heboasted a little of his bodily strength. He had nothing else to boastof. Because of that quality his comrades treated him with as great adeference, he explained, as though he had been a sergeant, both in campand in battle. 

"I could always get as many as I wanted to follow me anywhere, senorita. I ought to have been made an officer, because I can read and write. "

Behind him the silent old lady fetched a moaning sigh from time to time;the distracted father muttered to himself, pacing the sala; and GasparRuiz would raise his eyes now and then to look at the daughter of thesepeople. 

He would look at her with curiosity because she was alive, and also withthat feeling of familiarity and awe with which he had contemplatedin churches the inanimate and powerful statues of the saints, whoseprotection is invoked in dangers and difficulties. His difficulty wasvery great. 

He could not remain hiding in an orchard for ever and ever. He knew alsovery well that before he had gone half a day's journey in any direction, he would be picked up by one of the cavalry patrols scouring thecountry, and brought into one or another of the camps where the patriotarmy destined for the liberation of Peru was collected. There hewould in the end be recognized as Gaspar Ruiz--the deserter to theRoyalists--and no doubt shot very effectually this time. There did notseem any place in the world for the innocent Gaspar Ruiz anywhere. And at this thought his simple soul surrendered itself to gloom andresentment as black as night. 

They had made him a soldier forcibly. He did not mind being a soldier. And he had been a good soldier as he had been a good son, because of hisdocility and his strength. But now there was no use for either. They hadtaken him from his parents, and he could no longer be a soldier--not agood soldier at any rate. Nobody would listen to his explanations. Whatinjustice it was! What injustice!

And in a mournful murmur he would go over the story of his capture andrecapture for the twentieth time. Then, raising his eyes to the silentgirl in the doorway, "Si, senorita, " he would say with a deep sigh, "injustice has made this poor breath in my body quite worthless to meand to anybody else. And I do not care who robs me of it. "

One evening, as he exhaled thus the plaint of his wounded soul, shecondescended to say that, if she were a man, she would consider no lifeworthless which held the possibility of revenge. 

She seemed to be speaking to herself. Her voice was low. He drank in thegentle, as if dreamy sound with a consciousness of peculiar delight ofsomething warming his breast like a draught of generous wine. 

"True, Senorita, " he said, raising his face up to hers slowly: "there isEstaban, who must be shown that I am not dead after all. "

The mutterings of the mad father had ceased long before; the sighingmother had withdrawn somewhere into one of the empty rooms. All wasstill within as well as without, in the moonlight bright as day on thewild orchard full of inky shadows. Gaspar Ruiz saw the dark eyes of DonaErminia look down at him. 

"Ah! The sergeant, " she muttered, disdainfully. 

"Why! He has wounded me with his sword, " he protested, bewildered by thecontempt that seemed to shine livid on her pale face. 

She crushed him with her glance. The power of her will to be understoodwas so strong that it kindled in him the intelligence of unexpressedthings. 

"What else did you expect me to do?" he cried, as if suddenly driven todespair. "Have I the power to do more? Am I a general with an army at myback?--miserable sinner that I am to be despised by you at last. "

VIII

"Senores, " related the General to his guests, "though my thoughts wereof love then, and therefore enchanting, the sight of that house alwaysaffected me disagreeably, especially in the moonlight, when its closeshutters and its air of lonely neglect appeared sinister. Still I wenton using the bridle-path by the ravine, because it was a short cut. The mad Royalist howled and laughed at me every evening to his completesatisfaction; but after a time, as if wearied with my indifference, heceased to appear in the porch. How they persuaded him to leave off I donot know. However, with Gaspar Ruiz in the house there would have beenno difficulty in restraining him by force. It was now part of theirpolicy in there to avoid anything which could provoke me. At least, so Isuppose. 

"Notwithstanding my infatuation with the brightest pair of eyes inChile, I noticed the absence of the old man after a week or so. A fewmore days passed. I began to think that perhaps these Royalists had goneaway somewhere else. But one evening, as I was hastening towards thecity, I saw again somebody in the porch. It was not the madman; it wasthe girl. She stood holding on to one of the wooden columns, tall andwhite-faced, her big eyes sunk deep with privation and sorrow. I lookedhard at her, and she met my stare with a strange, inquisitive look. Then, as I turned my head after riding past, she seemed to gathercourage for the act, and absolutely beckoned me back. 

"I obeyed, senores, almost without thinking, so great was myastonishment. It was greater still when I heard what she had to say. Shebegan by thanking me for my forbearance of her father's infirmity, so that I felt ashamed of myself. I had meant to show disdain, notforbearance! Every word must have burnt her lips, but she never departedfrom a gentle and melancholy dignity which filled me with respectagainst my will. Senores, we are no match for women. But I could hardlybelieve my ears when she began her tale. Providence, she concluded, seemed to have preserved the life of that wronged soldier, who nowtrusted to my honour as a caballero and to my compassion for hissufferings. 

"'Wronged man, ' I observed, coldly. 'Well, I think so, too: and you havebeen harbouring an enemy of your cause. '

"'He was a poor Christian crying for help at our door in the name ofGod, senor, ' she answered, simply. 

"I began to admire her. 'Where is he now?' I asked, stiffly. 

"But she would not answer that question. With extreme cunning, and analmost fiendish delicacy, she managed to remind me of my failure insaving the lives of the prisoners in the guardroom, without woundingmy pride. She knew, of course, the whole story. Gaspar Ruiz, she said, entreated me to procure for him a safe-conduct from General SanMartin himself. He had an important communication to make to thecommander-in-chief. 

"Por Dios, senores, she made me swallow all that, pretending to be onlythe mouthpiece of that poor man. Overcome by injustice, he expected tofind, she said, as much generosity in me as had been shown to him by theRoyalist family which had given him a refuge. 

"Ha! It was well and nobly said to a youngster like me. I thought hergreat. Alas! she was only implacable. 

"In the end I rode away very enthusiastic about the business, withoutdemanding even to see Gaspar Ruiz, who I was confident was in the house. 

"But on calm reflection I began to see some difficulties which I had notconfidence enough in myself to encounter. It was not easy to approach acommander-in-chief with such a story. I feared failure. At last I thoughtit better to lay the matter before my general-of-division, Robles, afriend of my family, who had appointed me his aide-de-camp lately. 

"He took it out of my hands at once without any ceremony. 

"'In the house! of course he is in the house, ' he said contemptuously. 'You ought to have gone sword in hand inside and demanded his surrender, instead of chatting with a Royalist girl in the porch. Those peopleshould have been hunted out of that long ago. Who knows how many spiesthey have harboured right in the very midst of our camps? A safe-conductfrom the Commander-in-Chief! The audacity of the fellow! Ha! ha! Nowwe shall catch him to-night, and then we shall find out, without anysafe-conduct, what he has got to say, that is so very important. Ha! ha!ha!'

"General Robles, peace to his soul, was a short, thick man, with round, staring eyes, fierce and jovial. Seeing my distress he added:

"'Come, come, chico. I promise you his life if he does not resist. Andthat is not likely. We are not going to break up a good soldier if itcan be helped. I tell you what! I am curious to see your strong man. Nothing but a general will do for the picaro--well, he shall have ageneral to talk to. Ha! ha! I shall go myself to the catching, and youare coming with me, of course. '

"And it was done that same night. Early in the evening the house and theorchard were surrounded quietly. Later on the General and I left a ballwe were attending in town and rode out at an easy gallop. At some littledistance from the house we pulled up. A mounted orderly held our horses. A low whistle warned the men watching all along the ravine, and wewalked up to the porch softly. The barricaded house in the moonlightseemed empty. 

"The General knocked at the door. After a time a woman's voice withinasked who was there. My chief nudged me hard. I gasped. 

"'It is I, Lieutenant Santierra, ' I stammered out, as if choked. 'Openthe door. '

"It came open slowly. The girl, holding a thin taper in her hand, seeinganother man with me, began to back away before us slowly, shading thelight with her hand. Her impassive white face looked ghostly. I followedbehind General Robles. Her eyes were fixed on mine. I made a gesture ofhelplessness behind my chief's back, trying at the same time to give areassuring expression to my face. None of us three uttered a sound. 

"We found ourselves in a room with bare floor and walls. There was arough table and a couple of stools in it, nothing else whatever. An oldwoman with her grey hair hanging loose wrung her hands when we appeared. A peal of loud laughter resounded through the empty house, very amazingand weird. At this the old woman tried to get past us. 

"'Nobody to leave the room, ' said General Robles to me. 

"I swung the door to, heard the latch click, and the laughter becamefaint in our ears. 

"Before another word could be spoken in that room I was amazed byhearing the sound of distant thunder. 

"I had carried in with me into the house a vivid impression of abeautiful clear moonlight night, without a speck of cloud in the sky. Icould not believe my ears. Sent early abroad for my education, I was notfamiliar with the most dreaded natural phenomenon of my native land. I saw, with inexpressible astonishment, a look of terror in my chief'seyes. Suddenly I felt giddy. The General staggered against me heavily;the girl seemed to reel in the middle of the room, the taper fell outof her hand and the light went out; a shrill cry of 'Misericordia!'from the old woman pierced my ears. In the pitchy darkness I heard theplaster off the walls falling on the floor. It is a mercy there was noceiling. Holding on to the latch of the door, I heard the grinding ofthe roof-tiles cease above my head. The shock was over. 

"'Out of the house! The door! Fly, Santierra, fly!' howled the General. You know, senores, in our country the bravest are not ashamed of thefear an earthquake strikes into all the senses of man. One never getsused to it. Repeated experience only augments the mastery of thatnameless terror. 

"It was my first earthquake, and I was the calmest of them all. Iunderstood that the crash outside was caused by the porch, with itswooden pillars and tiled roof projection, falling down. The nextshock would destroy the house, maybe. That rumble as of thunder wasapproaching again. The General was rushing round the room, to find thedoor perhaps. He made a noise as though he were trying to climb thewalls, and I heard him distinctly invoke the names of several saints. 'Out, out, Santierra!' he yelled. 

"The girl's voice was the only one I did not hear. 

"'General, ' I cried, I cannot move the door. We must be locked in. '

"I did not recognize his voice in the shout of malediction and despairhe let out. Senores, I know many men in my country, especially in theprovinces most subject to earthquakes, who will neither eat, sleep, pray, nor even sit down to cards with closed doors. The danger is notin the loss of time, but in this--that the movement of the walls mayprevent a door being opened at all. This was what had happened to us. Wewere trapped, and we had no help to expect from anybody. There is no manin my country who will go into a house when the earth trembles. Therenever was--except one: Gaspar Ruiz. 

"He had come out of whatever hole he had been hiding in outside, andhad clambered over the timbers of the destroyed porch. Above the awfulsubterranean groan of coming destruction I heard a mighty voice shoutingthe word 'Erminia!' with the lungs of a giant. An earthquake is a greatleveller of distinctions. I collected all my resolution against theterror of the scene. 'She is here, ' I shouted back. A roar as of afurious wild beast answered me--while my head swam, my heart sank, andthe sweat of anguish streamed like rain off my brow. 

"He had the strength to pick up one of the heavy posts of the porch. Holding it under his armpit like a lance, but with both hands, hecharged madly the rocking house with the force of a battering-ram, bursting open the door and rushing in, headlong, over our prostratebodies. I and the General picking ourselves up, bolted out together, without looking round once till we got across the road. Then, clingingto each other, we beheld the house change suddenly into a heap offormless rubbish behind the back of a man, who staggered towards usbearing the form of a woman clasped in his arms. Her long black hairhung nearly to his feet. He laid her down reverently on the heavingearth, and the moonlight shone on her closed eyes. 

"Senores, we mounted with difficulty. Our horses getting up plungedmadly, held by the soldiers who had come running from all sides. Nobodythought of catching Gaspar Ruiz then. The eyes of men and animals shonewith wild fear. My general approached Gaspar Ruiz, who stood motionlessas a statue above the girl. He let himself be shaken by the shoulderwithout detaching his eyes from her face. 

"'Que guape!' shouted the General in his ear. 'You are the bravest manliving. You have saved my life. I am General Robles. Come to my quartersto-morrow if God gives us the grace to see another day. '

"He never stirred--as if deaf, without feeling, insensible. 

"We rode away for the town, full of our relations, of our friends, ofwhose fate we hardly dared to think. The soldiers ran by the side ofour horses. Everything was forgotten in the immensity of the catastropheovertaking a whole country. "

. . . . . . . 

Gaspar Ruiz saw the girl open her eyes. The raising of her eyelidsseemed to recall him from a trance. They were alone; the cries of terrorand distress from homeless people filled the plains of the coast remoteand immense, coming like a whisper into their loneliness. 

She rose swiftly to her feet, darting fearful glances on all sides. "What is it?" she cried out low, and peering into his face. "Where amI?"

He bowed his head sadly, without a word. 

". . . Who are you?"

He knelt down slowly before her, and touched the hem of her coarse blackbaize skirt. "Your slave, " he said. 

She caught sight then of the heap of rubbish that had been the house, all misty in the cloud of dust. "Ah!" she cried, pressing her hand toher forehead. 

"I carried you out from there, " he whispered at her feet. 

"And they?" she asked in a great sob. 

He rose, and taking her by the arms, led her gently towards theshapeless ruin half overwhelmed by a landslide. "Come and listen, " hesaid. 

The serene moon saw them clambering over that heap of stones, joists andtiles, which was a grave. They pressed their ears to the interstices, listening for the sound of a groan, for a sigh of pain. 

At last he said, "They died swiftly. You are alone. "

She sat down on a piece of broken timber and put one arm across herface. He waited--then approaching his lips to her ear: "Let us go, " hewhispered. 

"Never--never from here, " she cried out, flinging her arms above herhead. 

He stooped over her, and her raised arms fell upon his shoulders. Helifted her up, steadied himself and began to walk, looking straightbefore him. 

"What are you doing?" she asked, feebly. 

"I am escaping from my enemies, " he said, never once glancing at hislight burden. 

"With me?" she sighed, helplessly. 

"Never without you, " he said. "You are my strength. "

He pressed her close to him. His face was grave and his footstepssteady. The conflagrations bursting out in the ruins of destroyedvillages dotted the plain with red fires; and the sounds of distantlamentations, the cries of Misericordia! Misericordia! made a desolatemurmur in his ears. He walked on, solemn and collected, as if carryingsomething holy, fragile, and precious. 

The earth rocked at times under his feet. 

IX

With movements of mechanical care and an air of abstraction old GeneralSantierra lighted a long and thick cigar. 

"It was a good many hours before we could send a party back to theravine, " he said to his guests. "We had found one-third of the town laidlow, the rest shaken up; and the inhabitants, rich and poor, reduced tothe same state of distraction by the universal disaster. The affectedcheerfulness of some contrasted with the despair of others. In thegeneral confusion a number of reckless thieves, without fear of God orman, became a danger to those who from the downfall of their homes hadmanaged to save some valuables. Crying 'Misericordia' louder than any atevery tremor, and beating their breast with one hand, these scoundrelsrobbed the poor victims with the other, not even stopping short ofmurder. 

"General Robles' division was occupied entirely in guarding thedestroyed quarters of the town from the depredations of these inhumanmonsters. Taken up with my duties of orderly officer, it was only in themorning that I could assure myself of the safety of my own family. Mymother and my sisters had escaped with their lives from that ballroom, where I had left them early in the evening. I remember those twobeautiful young women--God rest their souls--as if I saw them thismoment, in the garden of our destroyed house, pale but active, assistingsome of our poor neighbours, in their soiled ball-dresses and with thedust of fallen walls on their hair. As to my mother, she had a stoicalsoul in her frail body. Half-covered by a costly shawl, she was lyingon a rustic seat by the side of an ornamental basin whose fountain hadceased to play for ever on that night. 

"I had hardly had time to embrace them all with transports of joy whenmy chief, coming along, dispatched me to the ravine with a few soldiers, to bring in my strong man, as he called him, and that pale girl. 

"But there was no one for us to bring in. A landslide had covered theruins of the house; and it was like a large mound of earth with only theends of some timbers visible here and there--nothing more. 

"Thus were the tribulations of the old Royalist couple ended. Anenormous and unconsecrated grave had swallowed them up alive, in theirunhappy obstinacy against the will of a people to be free. And theirdaughter was gone. 

"That Gaspar Ruiz had carried her off I understood very well. But asthe case was not foreseen, I had no instructions to pursue them. Andcertainly I had no desire to do so. I had grown mistrustful of myinterference. It had never been successful, and had not even appearedcreditable. He was gone. Well, let him go. And he had carried off theRoyalist girl! Nothing better. Vaya con Dios. This was not the timeto bother about a deserter who, justly or unjustly, ought to have beendead, and a girl for whom it would have been better to have never beenborn. 

"So I marched my men back to the town. 

"After a few days, order having been re-established, all the principalfamilies, including my own, left for Santiago. We had a fine housethere. At the same time the division of Robles was moved to newcantonments near the capital. This change suited very well the state ofmy domestic and amorous feelings. 

"One night, rather late, I was called to my chief. I found GeneralRobles in his quarters, at ease, with his uniform off, drinking neatbrandy out of a tumbler--as a precaution, he used to say, against thesleeplessness induced by the bites of mosquitoes. He was a good soldier, and he taught me the art and practice of war. No doubt God has beenmerciful to his soul; for his motives were never other than patriotic, if his character was irascible. As to the use of mosquito nets, heconsidered it effeminate, shameful--unworthy of a soldier. I noticed atthe first glance that his face, already very red, wore an expression ofhigh good-humour. 

"'Aha! Senor teniente, ' he cried, loudly, as I saluted at the door. 'Behold! Your strong man has turned up again. '

"He extended to me a folded letter, which I saw was superscribed 'To theCommander-in-Chief of the Republican Armies. '

"'This, ' General Robles went on in his loud voice, 'was thrust by a boyinto the hand of a sentry at the Quartel General, while the fellow stoodthere thinking of his girl, no doubt--for before he could gather hiswits together the boy had disappeared amongst the market people, and heprotests he could not recognize him to save his life. '

"'My chief told me further that the soldier had given the letter to thesergeant of the guard, and that ultimately it had reached the hands ofour generalissimo. His Excellency had deigned to take cognizance of itwith his own eyes. After that he had referred the matter in confidenceto General Robles. 

"The letter, senores, I cannot now recollect textually. I saw thesignature of Gaspar Ruiz. He was an audacious fellow. He had snatched asoul for himself out of a cataclysm, remember. And now it was thatsoul which had dictated the terms of his letter. Its tone was veryindependent. I remember it struck me at the time as noble--dignified. Itwas, no doubt, her letter. Now I shudder at the depth of its duplicity. Gaspar Ruiz was made to complain of the injustice of which he had beena victim. He invoked his previous record of fidelity and courage. Havingbeen saved from death by the miraculous interposition of Providence, hecould think of nothing but of retrieving his character. This, he wrote, he could not hope to do in the ranks as a discredited soldier stillunder suspicion. He had the means to give a striking proof of hisfidelity. He had ended by proposing to the General-in-Chief a meeting atmidnight in the middle of the Plaza before the Moneta. The signal wouldbe to strike fire with flint and steel three times, which was not tooconspicuous and yet distinctive enough for recognition. 

"San Martin, the great Liberator, loved men of audacity and courage. Besides, he was just and compassionate. I told him as much of the man'sstory as I knew, and was ordered to accompany him on the appointednight. The signals were duly exchanged. It was midnight, and the wholetown was dark and silent. Their two cloaked figures came together inthe centre of the vast Plaza, and, keeping discreetly at a distance, I listened for an hour or more to the murmur of their voices. Then theGeneral motioned me to approach; and as I did so I heard San Martin, who was courteous to gentle and simple alike, offer Gaspar Ruiz thehospitality of the headquarters for the night. But the soldier refused, saying that he would be not worthy of that honour till he had donesomething. 

"'You cannot have a common deserter for your guest, Excellency, ' heprotested with a low laugh, and stepping backwards merged slowly intothe night. 

"The Commander-in-Chief observed to me, as we turned away: 'He hadsomebody with him, our friend Ruiz. I saw two figures for a moment. Itwas an unobtrusive companion. '

"I, too, had observed another figure join the vanishing form of GasparRuiz. It had the appearance of a short fellow in a poncho and a bighat. And I wondered stupidly who it could be he had dared take intohis confidence. I might have guessed it could be no one but that fatalgirl--alas!

"Where he kept her concealed I do not know. He had--it was knownafterwards--an uncle, his mother's brother, a small shopkeeper inSantiago. Perhaps it was there that she found a roof and food. Whatevershe found, it was poor enough to exasperate her pride and keep up heranger and hate. It is certain she did not accompany him on the feathe undertook to accomplish first of all. It was nothing less than thedestruction of a store of war material collected secretly by the Spanishauthorities in the south, in a town called Linares. Gaspar Ruiz wasentrusted with a small party only, but they proved themselves worthy ofSan Martin's confidence. The season was not propitious. They had to swimswollen rivers. They seemed, however, to have galloped night and dayout-riding the news of their foray, and holding straight for the town, a hundred miles into the enemy's country, till at break of day they rodeinto it sword in hand, surprising the little garrison. It fled withoutmaking a stand, leaving most of its officers in Gaspar Ruiz' hands. 

"A great explosion of gunpowder ended the conflagration of the magazinesthe raiders had set on fire without loss of time. In less than sixhours they were riding away at the same mad speed, without the loss of asingle man. Good as they were, such an exploit is not performed withouta still better leadership. 

"I was dining at the headquarters when Gaspar Ruiz himself brought thenews of his success. And it was a great blow to the Royalist troops. Fora proof he displayed to us the garrison's flag. He took it from underhis poncho and flung it on the table. The man was transfigured; therewas something exulting and menacing in the expression of his face. Hestood behind General San Martin's chair and looked proudly at us all. He had a round blue cap edged with silver braid on his head, and we allcould see a large white scar on the nape of his sunburnt neck. 

"Somebody asked him what he had done with the captured Spanish officers. 

"He shrugged his shoulders scornfully. 'What a question to ask! Ina partisan war you do not burden yourself with prisoners. I let themgo--and here are their sword-knots. '

"He flung a bunch of them on the table upon the flag. Then GeneralRobles, whom I was attending there, spoke up in his loud, thick voice:'You did! Then, my brave friend, you do not know yet how a war like oursought to be conducted. You should have done--this. ' And he passed theedge of his hand across his own throat. 

"Alas, senores! It was only too true that on both sides this contest, inits nature so heroic, was stained by ferocity. The murmurs that aroseat General Robles' words were by no means unanimous in tone. But thegenerous and brave San Martin praised the humane action, and pointedout to Ruiz a place on his right hand. Then rising with a full glasshe proposed a toast: 'Caballeros and comrades-in-arms, let us drink thehealth of Captain Gaspar Ruiz. ' And when we had emptied our glasses:'I intend, ' the Commander-in-Chief continued, 'to entrust him with theguardianship of our southern frontier, while we go afar to liberate ourbrethren in Peru. He whom the enemy could not stop from striking a blowat his very heart will know how to protect the peaceful populations weleave behind us to pursue our sacred task. ' And he embraced the silentGaspar Ruiz by his side. 

"Later on, when we all rose from table, I approached the latest officerof the army with my congratulations. 'And, Captain Ruiz, ' I added, 'perhaps you do not mind telling a man who has always believed inthe uprightness of your character what became of Dona Erminia on thatnight?'

"At this friendly question his aspect changed. He looked at me fromunder his eyebrows with the heavy, dull glance of a guasso--of apeasant. 'Senor teniente, ' he said, thickly, and as if very much castdown, 'do not ask me about the senorita, for I prefer not to think abouther at all when I am amongst you. "

"He looked, with a frown, all about the room, full of smoking andtalking officers. Of course I did not insist. 

"These, senores, were the last words I was to hear him utter for a long, long time. The very next day we embarked for our arduous expedition toPeru, and we only heard of Gaspar Ruiz' doings in the midst of battlesof our own. He had been appointed military guardian of our southernprovince. He raised a partida. But his leniency to the conquered foedispleased the Civil Governor, who was a formal, uneasy man, full ofsuspicions. He forwarded reports against Gaspar Ruiz to the SupremeGovernment; one of them being that he had married publicly, with greatpomp, a woman of Royalist tendencies. Quarrels were sure to arisebetween these two men of very different character. At last the CivilGovernor began to complain of his inactivity and to hint at treachery, which, he wrote, would be not surprising in a man of such antecedents. Gaspar Ruiz heard of it. His rage flamed up, and the woman ever by hisside knew how to feed it with perfidious words. I do not knowwhether really the Supreme Government ever did--as he complainedafterwards--send orders for his arrest. It seems certain that theCivil Governor began to tamper with his officers, and that Gaspar Ruizdiscovered the fact. 

"One evening, when the Governor was giving a tertullia, Gaspar Ruiz, followed by six men he could trust, appeared riding through the town tothe door of the Government House, and entered the sala armed, his hat onhis head. As the Governor, displeased, advanced to meet him, he seizedthe wretched man round the body, carried him off from the midst of theappalled guests, as though he were a child, and flung him down the outersteps into the street. An angry hug from Gaspar Ruiz was enough to crushthe life out of a giant; but in addition Gaspar Ruiz' horsemen firedtheir pistols at the body of the Governor as it lay motionless at thebottom of the stairs. "

X

"After this--as he called it--act of justice, Ruiz crossed the RioBlanco, followed by the greater part of his band, and entrenched himselfupon a hill. A company of regular troops sent out foolishly against himwas surrounded, and destroyed almost to a man. Other expeditions, thoughbetter organized, were equally unsuccessful. 

"It was during these sanguinary skirmishes that his wife first began toappear on horseback at his right hand. Rendered proud and self-confidentby his successes, Ruiz no longer charged at the head of his partida, butpresumptuously, like a general directing the movements of an army, he remained in the rear, well mounted and motionless on an eminence, sending out his orders. She was seen repeatedly at his side, and fora long time was mistaken for a man. There was much talk then of amysterious white-faced chief, to whom the defeats of our troops wereascribed. She rode like an Indian woman, astride, wearing a broad-rimmedman's hat and a dark poncho. Afterwards, in the day of their greatestprosperity, this poncho was embroidered in gold, and she wore then, also, the sword of poor Don Antonio de Leyva. This veteran Chilianofficer, having the misfortune to be surrounded with his small force, and running short of ammunition, found his death at the hands of theArauco Indians, the allies and auxiliaries of Gaspar Ruiz. This was thefatal affair long remembered afterwards as the 'Massacre of the Island. 'The sword of the unhappy officer was presented to her by Peneleo, theAraucanian chief; for these Indians, struck by her aspect, the deathlypallor of her face, which no exposure to the weather seemed to affect, and her calm indifference under fire, looked upon her as a supernaturalbeing, or at least as a witch. By this superstition the prestige andauthority of Gaspar Ruiz amongst these ignorant people were greatlyaugmented. She must have savoured her vengeance to the full on that daywhen she buckled on the sword of Don Antonio de Leyva. It never left herside, unless she put on her woman's clothes--not that she would orcould ever use it, but she loved to feel it beating upon her thigh asa perpetual reminder and symbol of the dishonour to the arms of theRepublic. She was insatiable. Moreover, on the path she had led GasparRuiz upon, there is no stopping. Escaped prisoners--and they were notmany--used to relate how with a few whispered words she could change theexpression of his face and revive his flagging animosity. They told howafter every skirmish, after every raid, after every successful action, he would ride up to her and look into her face. Its haughty calm wasnever relaxed. Her embrace, senores, must have been as cold as theembrace of a statue. He tried to melt her icy heart in a stream of warmblood. Some English naval officers who visited him at that time noticedthe strange character of his infatuation. "

At the movement of surprise and curiosity in his audience GeneralSantierra paused for a moment. 

"Yes--English naval officers, " he repeated. "Ruiz had consented toreceive them to arrange for the liberation of some prisoners of yournationality. In the territory upon which he ranged, from sea coast tothe Cordillera, there was a bay where the ships of that time, afterrounding Cape Horn, used to resort for wood and water. There, decoyingthe crew on shore, he captured first the whaling brig Hersalia, andafterwards made himself master by surprise of two more ships, oneEnglish and one American. 

"It was rumoured at the time that he dreamed of setting up a navy of hisown. But that, of course, was impossible. Still, manning the brig withpart of her own crew, and putting an officer and a good many men of hisown on board, he sent her off to the Spanish Governor of the island ofChiloe with a report of his exploits, and a demand for assistance in thewar against the rebels. The Governor could not do much for him; but hesent in return two light field-pieces, a letter of compliments, with acolonel's commission in the royal forces, and a great Spanish flag. Thisstandard with much ceremony was hoisted over his house in the heart ofthe Arauco country. Surely on that day she may have smiled on her guassohusband with a less haughty reserve. 

"The senior officer of the English squadron on our coast maderepresentations to our Government as to these captures. But Gaspar Ruizrefused to treat with us. Then an English frigate proceeded to the bay, and her captain, doctor, and two lieutenants travelled inland under asafe-conduct. They were well received, and spent three days as guests ofthe partisan chief. A sort of military barbaric state was kept up at theresidence. It was furnished with the loot of frontier towns. When firstadmitted to the principal sala, they saw his wife lying down (she wasnot in good health then), with Gaspar Ruiz sitting at the foot of thecouch. His hat was lying on the floor, and his hands reposed on the hiltof his sword. 

"During that first conversation he never removed his big hands fromthe sword-hilt, except once, to arrange the coverings about her, withgentle, careful touches. They noticed that whenever she spoke he wouldfix his eyes upon her in a kind of expectant, breathless attention, andseemingly forget the existence of the world and his own existence, too. In the course of the farewell banquet, at which she was presentreclining on her couch, he burst forth into complaints of the treatmenthe had received. After General San Martin's departure he had beenbeset by spies, slandered by civil officials, his services ignored, hisliberty and even his life threatened by the Chilian Government. He gotup from the table, thundered execrations pacing the room wildly, thensat down on the couch at his wife's feet, his breast heaving, his eyesfixed on the floor. She reclined on her back, her head on the cushions, her eyes nearly closed. 

"'And now I am an honoured Spanish officer, ' he added in a calm voice. 

"The captain of the English frigate then took the opportunity to informhim gently that Lima had fallen, and that by the terms of a conventionthe Spaniards were withdrawing from the whole continent. 

"Gaspar Ruiz raised his head, and without hesitation, speaking withsuppressed vehemence, declared that if not a single Spanish soldier wereleft in the whole of South America he would persist in carrying on thecontest against Chile to the last drop of blood. When he finished thatmad tirade his wife's long white hand was raised, and she just caressedhis knee with the tips of her fingers for a fraction of a second. 

"For the rest of the officers' stay, which did not extend for more thanhalf an hour after the banquet, that ferocious chieftain of a desperatepartida overflowed with amiability and kindness. He had been hospitablebefore, but now it seemed as though he could not do enough for thecomfort and safety of his visitors' journey back to their ship. 

"Nothing, I have been told, could have presented a greater contrast tohis late violence or the habitual taciturn reserve of his manner. Like aman elated beyond measure by an unexpected happiness, he overflowed withgood-will, amiability, and attentions. He embraced the officers likebrothers, almost with tears in his eyes. The released prisoners werepresented each with a piece of gold. At the last moment, suddenly, hedeclared he could do no less than restore to the masters of the merchantvessels all their private property. This unexpected generosity causedsome delay in the departure of the party, and their first march was veryshort. 

"Late in the evening Gaspar Ruiz rode up with an escort, to their campfires, bringing along with him a mule loaded with cases of wine. He hadcome, he said, to drink a stirrup cup with his English friends, whom hewould never see again. He was mellow and joyous in his temper. He toldstories of his own exploits, laughed like a boy, borrowed a guitarfrom the Englishmen's chief muleteer, and sitting cross-legged on hissuperfine poncho spread before the glow of the embers, sang a guassolove-song in a tender voice. Then his head dropped on his breast, hishands fell to the ground; the guitar rolled off his knees--and a greathush fell over the camp after the love-song of the implacable partisanwho had made so many of our people weep for destroyed homes and forloves cut short. 

"Before anybody could make a sound he sprang up from the ground andcalled for his horse. 

"'Adios, my friends!' he cried. 'Go with God. I love you. And tell themwell in Santiago that between Gaspar Ruiz, colonel of the King of Spain, and the republican carrion-crows of Chile there is war to the lastbreath--war! war! war!'

"With a great yell of 'War! war! war!' which his escort took up, theyrode away, and the sound of hoofs and of voices died out in the distancebetween the slopes of the hills. 

"The two young English officers were convinced that Ruiz was mad. Howdo you say that?--tile loose--eh? But the doctor, an observant Scotsmanwith much shrewdness and philosophy in his character, told me that itwas a very curious case of possession. I met him many years afterwards, but he remembered the experience very well. He told me, too, that inhis opinion that woman did not lead Gaspar Ruiz into the practice ofsanguinary treachery by direct persuasion, but by the subtle way ofawakening and keeping alive in his simple mind a burning sense of anirreparable wrong. Maybe, maybe. But I would say that she poured halfof her vengeful soul into the strong clay of that man, as you may pourintoxication, madness, poison into an empty cup. 

"If he wanted war he got it in earnest when our victorious army began toreturn from Peru. Systematic operations were planned against this bloton the honour and prosperity of our hardly won independence. GeneralRobles commanded, with his well-known ruthless severity. Savagereprisals were exercised on both sides and no quarter was given in thefield. Having won my promotion in the Peru campaign, I was a captain onthe staff. Gaspar Ruiz found himself hard pressed; at the same time weheard by means of a fugitive priest who had been carried off from hisvillage presbytery and galloped eighty miles into the hills to performthe christening ceremony, that a daughter was born to them. To celebratethe event, I suppose, Ruiz executed one or two brilliant forays clearaway at the rear of our forces, and defeated the detachments sent out tocut off his retreat. General Robles nearly had a stroke of apoplexy fromrage. He found another cause of insomnia than the bites of mosquitoes;but against this one, senores, tumblers of raw brandy had no more effectthan so much water. He took to railing and storming at me about mystrong man. And from our impatience to end this inglorious campaign I amafraid that all we young officers became reckless and apt to take unduerisks on service. 

"Nevertheless, slowly, inch by inch as it were, our columns were closingupon Gaspar Ruiz, though he had managed to raise all the Araucaniannation of wild Indians against us. Then a year or more later ourGovernment became aware through its agents and spies that he hadactually entered into alliance with Carreras, the so-called dictator ofthe so-called republic of Mendoza, on the other side of the mountains. Whether Gaspar Ruiz had a deep political intention, or whether he wishedonly to secure a safe retreat for his wife and child while he pursuedremorselessly against us his war of surprises and massacres, I cannottell. The alliance, however, was a fact. Defeated in his attempt tocheck our advance from the sea, he retreated with his usual swiftness, and preparing for another hard and hazardous tussle, began by sendinghis wife with the little girl across the Pequena range of mountains, onthe frontier of Mendoza. "

XI

"Now Carreras, under the guise of politics and liberalism, was ascoundrel of the deepest dye, and the unhappy state of Mendoza was theprey of thieves, robbers, traitors, and murderers, who formed his party. He was under a noble exterior a man without heart, pity, honour, orconscience. He aspired to nothing but tyranny, and though he would havemade use of Gaspar Ruiz for his nefarious designs, yet he soon becameaware that to propitiate the Chilian Government would answer his purposebetter. I blush to say that he made proposals to our Government todeliver up on certain conditions the wife and child of the man who hadtrusted to his honour, and that this offer was accepted. 

"While on her way to Mendoza over the Pequena Pass she was betrayed byher escort of Carreras' men, and given up to the officer in command ofa Chilian fort on the upland at the foot of the main Cordillera range. This atrocious transaction might have cost me dear, for as a matter offact I was a prisoner in Gaspar Ruiz' camp when he received the news. Ihad been captured during a reconnaissance, my escort of a few troopersbeing speared by the Indians of his bodyguard. I was saved from the samefate because he recognized my features just in time. No doubt my friendsthought I was dead, and I would not have given much for my life at anytime. But the strong man treated me very well, because, he said, I hadalways believed in his innocence and had tried to serve him when he wasa victim of injustice. 

"'And now, ' was his speech to me, 'you shall see that I always speak thetruth. You are safe. '

"I did not think I was very safe when I was called up to go to him onenight. He paced up and down like a wild beast, exclaiming, 'Betrayed!Betrayed!'

"He walked up to me clenching his fists. 'I could cut your throat. '

"'Will that give your wife back to you?' I said as quietly as I could. 

"'And the child!' he yelled out, as if mad. He fell into a chair andlaughed in a frightful, boisterous manner. 'Oh, no, you are safe. '

"I assured him that his wife's life was safe, too; but I did not saywhat I was convinced of--that he would never see her again. He wantedwar to the death, and the war could only end with his death. 

"He gave me a strange, inexplicable look, and sat muttering blankly, 'Intheir hands. In their hands. '

"I kept as still as a mouse before a cat. 

"Suddenly he jumped up. 'What am I doing here?' he cried; and openingthe door, he yelled out orders to saddle and mount. 'What is it?' hestammered, coming up to me. 'The Pequena fort; a fort of palisades!Nothing. I would get her back if she were hidden in the very heart ofthe mountain. ' He amazed me by adding, with an effort: 'I carried heroff in my two arms while the earth trembled. And the child at least ismine. She at least is mine!'

"Those were bizarre words; but I had no time for wonder. 

"'You shall go with me, ' he said, violently. 'I may want to parley, andany other messenger from Ruiz, the outlaw, would have his throat cut. '

"This was true enough. Between him and the rest of incensed mankindthere could be no communication, according to the customs of honourablewarfare. 

"In less than half an hour we were in the saddle, flying wildly throughthe night. He had only an escort of twenty men at his quarters, butwould not wait for more. He sent, however, messengers to Peneleo, theIndian chief then ranging in the foothills, directing him to bringhis warriors to the uplands and meet him at the lake called the Eye ofWater, near whose shores the frontier fort of Pequena was built. 

"We crossed the lowlands with that untired rapidity of movement whichhad made Gaspar Ruiz' raids so famous. We followed the lower valleysup to their precipitous heads. The ride was not without its dangers. A cornice road on a perpendicular wall of basalt wound itself around abuttressing rock, and at last we emerged from the gloom of a deep gorgeupon the upland of Pequena. 

"It was a plain of green wiry grass and thin flowering bushes; but highabove our heads patches of snow hung in the folds and crevices of thegreat walls of rock. The little lake was as round as a staring eye. Thegarrison of the fort were just driving in their small herd of cattlewhen we appeared. Then the great wooden gates swung to, and thatfour-square enclosure of broad blackened stakes pointed at the top andbarely hiding the grass roofs of the huts inside seemed deserted, empty, without a single soul. 

"But when summoned to surrender, by a man who at Gaspar Ruiz' order rodefearlessly forward those inside answered by a volley which rolled himand his horse over. I heard Ruiz by my side grind his teeth. 'It doesnot matter, ' he said. 'Now you go. '

"Torn and faded as its rags were, the vestiges of my uniform wererecognized, and I was allowed to approach within speaking distance; andthen I had to wait, because a voice clamouring through a loophole withjoy and astonishment would not allow me to place a word. It was thevoice of Major Pajol, an old friend. He, like my other comrades, hadthought me killed a long time ago. 

"'Put spurs to your horse, man!' he yelled, in the greatest excitement;'we will swing the gate open for you. '

"I let the reins fall out of my hand and shook my head. 'I am on myhonour, ' I cried. 

"'To him!' he shouted, with infinite disgust. 

"'He promises you your life. '

"'Our life is our own. And do you, Santierra, advise us to surrender tothat rastrero?'

"'No!' I shouted. 'But he wants his wife and child, and he can cut youoff from water. '

"'Then she would be the first to suffer. You may tell him that. Lookhere--this is all nonsense: we shall dash out and capture you. '

"'You shall not catch me alive, ' I said, firmly. 

"'Imbecile!'

"'For God's sake, ' I continued, hastily, 'do not open the gate. ' And Ipointed at the multitude of Peneleo's Indians who covered the shores ofthe lake. 

"I had never seen so many of these savages together. Their lancesseemed as numerous as stalks of grass. Their hoarse voices made a vast, inarticulate sound like the murmur of the sea. 

"My friend Pajol was swearing to himself. 'Well, then--go to the devil!'he shouted, exasperated. But as I swung round he repented, for I heardhim say hurriedly, 'Shoot the fool's horse before he gets away. '

"He had good marksmen. Two shots rang out, and in the very actof turning my horse staggered, fell and lay still as if struck bylightning. I had my feet out of the stirrups and rolled clear of him;but I did not attempt to rise. Neither dared they rush out to drag mein. 

"The masses of Indians had begun to move upon the fort. They rode upin squadrons, trailing their long chusos; then dismounted out ofmusket-shot, and, throwing off their fur mantles, advanced naked to theattack, stamping their feet and shouting in cadence. A sheet of flameran three times along the face of the fort without checking their steadymarch. They crowded right up to the very stakes, flourishing their broadknives. But this palisade was not fastened together with hide lashingsin the usual way, but with long iron nails, which they could not cut. Dismayed at the failure of their usual method of forcing an entrance, the heathen, who had marched so steadily against the musketry fire, broke and fled under the volleys of the besieged. 

"Directly they had passed me on their advance I got up and rejoinedGaspar Ruiz on a low ridge which jutted out upon the plain. The musketryof his own men had covered the attack, but now at a sign from him atrumpet sounded the 'Cease fire. ' Together we looked in silence at thehopeless rout of the savages. 

"'It must be a siege, then, ' he muttered. And I detected him wringinghis hands stealthily. 

"But what sort of siege could it be? Without any need for me to repeatmy friend Pajol's message, he dared not cut the water off from thebesieged. They had plenty of meat. And, indeed, if they had been shorthe would have been too anxious to send food into the stockade had hebeen able. But, as a matter of fact, it was we on the plain who werebeginning to feel the pinch of hunger. 

"Peneleo, the Indian chief, sat by our fire folded in his ample mantleof guanaco skins. He was an athletic savage, with an enormous squareshock head of hair resembling a straw beehive in shape and size, and with grave, surly, much-lined features. In his broken Spanish herepeated, growling like a bad-tempered wild beast, that if an openingever so small were made in the stockade his men would march in and getthe senora--not otherwise. 

"Gaspar Ruiz, sitting opposite him, kept his eyes fixed on the fortnight and day as it were, in awful silence and immobility. Meantime, byrunners from the lowlands that arrived nearly every day, we heard of thedefeat of one of his lieutenants in the Maipu valley. Scouts sent afarbrought news of a column of infantry advancing through distant passes tothe relief of the fort. They were slow, but we could trace their toilfulprogress up the lower valleys. I wondered why Ruiz did not march toattack and destroy this threatening force, in some wild gorge fit for anambuscade, in accordance with his genius for guerilla warfare. But hisgenius seemed to have abandoned him to his despair. 

"It was obvious to me that he could not tear himself away from the sightof the fort. I protest to you, senores, that I was moved almost topity by the sight of this powerless strong man sitting on the ridge, indifferent to sun, to rain, to cold, to wind; with his handsclasped round his legs and his chin resting on his knees, gazing--gazing--gazing. 

"And the fort he kept his eyes fastened on was as still and silent ashimself. The garrison gave no sign of life. They did not even answer thedesultory fire directed at the loopholes. 

"One night, as I strolled past him, he, without changing his attitude, spoke to me unexpectedly. 'I have sent for a gun, ' he said. 'I shallhave time to get her back and retreat before your Robles manages tocrawl up here. '

"He had sent for a gun to the plains. 

"It was long in coming, but at last it came. It was a seven-pounderfield gun. Dismounted and lashed crosswise to two long poles, it hadbeen carried up the narrow paths between two mules with ease. His wildcry of exultation at daybreak when he saw the gun escort emerge from thevalley rings in my ears now. 

"But, senores, I have no words to depict his amazement, his fury, hisdespair and distraction, when he heard that the animal loaded with thegun-carriage had, during the last night march, somehow or other tumbleddown a precipice. He broke into menaces of death and torture against theescort. I kept out of his way all that day, lying behind some bushes, and wondering what he would do now. Retreat was left for him, but hecould not retreat. 

"I saw below me his artillerist, Jorge, an old Spanish soldier, buildingup a sort of structure with heaped-up saddles. The gun, ready loaded, was lifted on to that, but in the act of firing the whole thingcollapsed and the shot flew high above the stockade. 

"Nothing more was attempted. One of the ammunition mules had been lost, too, and they had no more than six shots to fire; ample enough to batterdown the gate providing the gun was well laid. This was impossiblewithout it being properly mounted. There was no time nor means toconstruct a carriage. Already every moment I expected to hear Robles'bugle-calls echo amongst the crags. 

"Peneleo, wandering about uneasily, draped in his skins, sat down for amoment near me growling his usual tale. 

"'Make an entrada--a hole. If make a hole, bueno. If not make a hole, then vamos--we must go away. '

"After sunset I observed with surprise the Indians making preparationsas if for another assault. Their lines stood ranged in the shadows ofthe mountains. On the plain in front of the fort gate I saw a group ofmen swaying about in the same place. 

"I walked down the ridge disregarded. The moonlight in the clear airof the uplands was bright as day, but the intense shadows confused mysight, and I could not make out what they were doing. I heard the voiceof Jorge, the artillerist, say in a queer, doubtful tone, 'It is loaded, senor. '

"Then another voice in that group pronounced firmly the words, 'Bringthe riata here. ' It was the voice of Gaspar Ruiz. 

"A silence fell, in which the popping shots of the besieged garrisonrang out sharply. They, too, had observed the group. But the distancewas too great and in the spatter of spent musket-balls cutting up theground, the group opened, closed, swayed, giving me a glimpse of busystooping figures in its midst. I drew nearer, doubting whether this wasa weird vision, a suggestive and insensate dream. 

"A strangely stifled voice commanded, 'Haul the hitches tighter. '

"'Si, senor, ' several other voices answered in tones of awed alacrity. 

"Then the stifled voice said: 'Like this. I must be free to breathe. '

"Then there was a concerned noise of many men together. 'Help him up, hombres. Steady! Under the other arm. '

"That deadened voice ordered: 'Bueno! Stand away from me, men. '

"I pushed my way through the recoiling circle, and heard once more thatsame oppressed voice saying earnestly: 'Forget that I am a living man, Jorge. Forget me altogether, and think of what you have to do. '

"'Be without fear, senor. You are nothing to me but a gun-carriage, andI shall not waste a shot. '

"I heard the spluttering of a port-fire, and smelt the saltpetre of thematch. I saw suddenly before me a nondescript shape on all fours likea beast, but with a man's head drooping below a tubular projection overthe nape of the neck, and the gleam of a rounded mass of bronze on itsback. 

"In front of a silent semicircle of men it squatted alone, with Jorgebehind it and a trumpeter motionless, his trumpet in his hand, by itsside. 

"Jorge, bent double, muttered, port-fire in hand: 'An inch to the left, senor. Too much. So. Now, if you let yourself down a little by lettingyour elbows bend, I will . . . '

"He leaped aside, lowering his port-fire, and a burst of flame dartedout of the muzzle of the gun lashed on the man's back. 

"Then Gaspar Ruiz lowered himself slowly. 'Good shot?' he asked. 

"'Full on, senor. '

"'Then load again. '

"He lay there before me on his breast under the darkly glittering bronzeof his monstrous burden, such as no love or strength of man had everhad to bear in the lamentable history of the world. His arms were spreadout, and he resembled a prostrate penitent on the moonlit ground. 

"Again I saw him raised to his hands and knees and the men stand awayfrom him, and old Jorge stoop glancing along the gun. 

"'Left a little. Right an inch. Por Dios, senor, stop this trembling. Where is your strength?'

"The old gunner's voice was cracked with emotion. He stepped aside, andquick as lightning brought the spark to the touch-hole. 

"'Excellent!' he cried, tearfully; but Gaspar Ruiz lay for a long timesilent, flattened on the ground. 

"'I am tired, ' he murmured at last. 'Will another shot do it?'

"'Without doubt, ' said Jorge, bending down to his ear. 

"'Then--load, ' I heard him utter distinctly. 'Trumpeter!'

"'I am here, senor, ready for your word. '

"'Blow a blast at this word that shall be heard from one end of Chile tothe other, ' he said, in an extraordinarily strong voice. 'And you othersstand ready to cut this accursed riata, for then will be the time for meto lead you in your rush. Now raise me up, and you, Jorge--be quick withyour aim. '

"The rattle of musketry from the fort nearly drowned his voice. Thepalisade was wreathed in smoke and flame. 

"'Exert your force forward against the recoil, mi amo, ' said the oldgunner, shakily. 'Dig your fingers into the ground. So. Now!'

"A cry of exultation escaped him after the shot. The trumpeter raisedhis trumpet nearly to his lips and waited. But no word came from theprostrate man. I fell on one knee, and heard all he had to say then. 

"'Something broken, ' he whispered, lifting his head a little, andturning his eyes towards me in his hopelessly crushed attitude. 

"'The gate hangs only by the splinters, ' yelled Jorge. 

"Gaspar Ruiz tried to speak, but his voice died out in his throat, and Ihelped to roll the gun off his broken back. He was insensible. 

"I kept my lips shut, of course. The signal for the Indians to attackwas never given. Instead, the bugle-calls of the relieving force forwhich my ears had thirsted so long, burst out, terrifying like the callof the Last Day to our surprised enemies. 

"A tornado, senores, a real hurricane of stampeded men, wild horses, mounted Indians, swept over me as I cowered on the ground by the sideof Gaspar Ruiz, still stretched out on his face in the shape of across. Peneleo, galloping for life, jabbed at me with his long chuso inpassing--for the sake of old acquaintance, I suppose. How I escaped theflying lead is more difficult to explain. Venturing to rise on my kneestoo soon some soldiers of the 17th Taltal regiment, in their hurry toget at something alive, nearly bayoneted me on the spot. They lookedvery disappointed, too, when, some officers galloping up drove them awaywith the flat of their swords. 

"It was General Robles with his staff. He wanted badly to make someprisoners. He, too, seemed disappointed for a moment. 'What! Is it you?'he cried. But he dismounted at once to embrace me, for he was an oldfriend of my family. I pointed to the body at our feet, and said onlythese two words:

"'Gaspar Ruiz. '

"He threw his arms up in astonishment. 

"'Aha! Your strong man! Always to the last with your strong man. Nomatter. He saved our lives when the earth trembled enough to make thebravest faint with fear. I was frightened out of my wits. But he--no!Que guape! Where's the hero who got the best of him? ha! ha! ha! Whatkilled him, chico?'

"'His own strength, General, ' I answered. "

XII

"But Gaspar Ruiz breathed yet. I had him carried in his poncho under theshelter of some bushes on the very ridge from which he had been gazingso fixedly at the fort while unseen death was hovering already over hishead. 

"Our troops had bivouacked round the fort. Towards daybreak I was notsurprised to hear that I was designated to command the escort of aprisoner who was to be sent down at once to Santiago. Of course theprisoner was Gaspar Ruiz' wife. 

"'I have named you out of regard for your feelings, ' General Roblesremarked. 'Though the woman really ought to be shot for all the harm shehas done to the Republic. '

"And as I made a movement of shocked protest, he continued:

"'Now he is as well as dead, she is of no importance. Nobody will knowwhat to do with her. However, the Government wants her. ' He shrugged hisshoulders. 'I suppose he must have buried large quantities of his lootin places that she alone knows of. '

"At dawn I saw her coming up the ridge, guarded by two soldiers, andcarrying her child on her arm. 

"I walked to meet her. 

"'Is he living yet?' she asked, confronting me with that white, impassive face he used to look at in an adoring way. 

"I bent my head, and led her round a clump of bushes without a word. Hiseyes were open. He breathed with difficulty, and uttered her name with agreat effort. 

"'Erminia!'

"She knelt at his head. The little girl, unconscious of him, and withher big eyes looking about, began to chatter suddenly, in a joyous, thinvoice. She pointed a tiny finger at the rosy glow of sunrise behind theblack shapes of the peaks. And while that child-talk, incomprehensibleand sweet to the ear, lasted, those two, the dying man and the kneelingwoman, remained silent, looking into each other's eyes, listening to thefrail sound. Then the prattle stopped. The child laid its head againstits mother's breast and was still. 

"'It was for you, ' he began. 'Forgive. ' His voice failed him. PresentlyI heard a mutter and caught the pitiful words: 'Not strong enough. '

"She looked at him with an extraordinary intensity. He tried to smile, and in a humble tone, 'Forgive me, ' he repeated. 'Leaving you . . . '

"She bent down, dry-eyed and in a steady voice: 'On all the earth I haveloved nothing but you, Gaspar, ' she said. 

"His head made a movement. His eyes revived. 'At last!' he sighed out. Then, anxiously, 'But is this true . . . Is this true?'

"'As true as that there is no mercy and justice in this world, ' sheanswered him, passionately. She stooped over his face. He tried to raisehis head, but it fell back, and when she kissed his lips he was alreadydead. His glazed eyes stared at the sky, on which pink clouds floatedvery high. But I noticed the eyelids of the child, pressed to itsmother's breast, droop and close slowly. She had gone to sleep. 

"The widow of Gaspar Ruiz, the strong man, allowed me to lead her awaywithout shedding a tear. 

"For travelling we had arranged for her a sidesaddle very much like achair, with a board swung beneath to rest her feet on. And the first dayshe rode without uttering a word, and hardly for one moment turning hereyes away from the little girl, whom she held on her knees. At our firstcamp I saw her during the night walking about, rocking the child inher arms and gazing down at it by the light of the moon. After we hadstarted on our second day's march she asked me how soon we should cometo the first village of the inhabited country. 

"I said we should be there about noon. 

"'And will there be women there?' she inquired. 

"I told her that it was a large village. 'There will be men and womenthere, senora, ' I said, 'whose hearts shall be made glad by the newsthat all the unrest and war is over now. '

"'Yes, it is all over now, ' she repeated. Then, after a time: 'Senorofficer, what will your Government do with me?'

"'I do not know, senora, ' I said. 'They will treat you well, no doubt. We republicans are not savages and take no vengeance on women. '

"She gave me a look at the word 'republicans' which I imagined full ofundying hate. But an hour or so afterwards, as we drew up to let thebaggage mules go first along a narrow path skirting a precipice, shelooked at me with such a white, troubled face that I felt a great pityfor her. 

"'Senor officer, ' she said, 'I am weak, I tremble. It is an insensatefear. ' And indeed her lips did tremble while she tried to smile, glancing at the beginning of the narrow path which was not so dangerousafter all. 'I am afraid I shall drop the child. Gaspar saved your life, you remember. . . . Take her from me. '

"I took the child out of her extended arms. 'Shut your eyes, senora, andtrust to your mule, ' I recommended. 

"She did so, and with her pallor and her wasted, thin face she lookeddeathlike. At a turn of the path where a great crag of purple porphyrycloses the view of the lowlands, I saw her open her eyes. I rode justbehind her holding the little girl with my right arm. 'The child is allright, ' I cried encouragingly. 

"'Yes, ' she answered, faintly; and then, to my intense terror, I saw herstand up on the foot-rest, staring horribly, and throw herself forwardinto the chasm on our right. 

"I cannot describe to you the sudden and abject fear that came over meat that dreadful sight. It was a dread of the abyss, the dread of thecrags which seemed to nod upon me. My head swam. I pressed the child tomy side and sat my horse as still as a statue. I was speechless and coldall over. Her mule staggered, sidling close to the rock, and then wenton. My horse only pricked up his ears with a slight snort. My heartstood still, and from the depths of the precipice the stones rattling inthe bed of the furious stream made me almost insane with their sound. 

"Next moment we were round the turn and on a broad and grassy slope. Andthen I yelled. My men came running back to me in great alarm. It seemsthat at first I did nothing but shout, 'She has given the child into myhands! She has given the child into my hands!' The escort thought I hadgone mad. "

General Santierra ceased and got up from the table. "And that is all, senores, " he concluded, with a courteous glance at his rising guests. 

"But what became of the child. General?" we asked. 

"Ah, the child, the child. "

He walked to one of the windows opening on his beautiful garden, therefuge of his old days. Its fame was great in the land. Keeping us backwith a raised arm, he called out, "Erminia, Erminia!" and waited. Thenhis cautioning arm dropped, and we crowded to the windows. 

From a clump of trees a woman had come upon the broad walk borderedwith flowers. We could hear the rustle of her starched petticoats andobserved the ample spread of her old-fashioned black silk skirt. Shelooked up, and seeing all these eyes staring at her stopped, frowned, smiled, shook her finger at the General, who was laughing boisterously, and drawing the black lace on her head so as to partly conceal herhaughty profile, passed out of our sight, walking with stiff dignity. 

"You have beheld the guardian angel of the old man--and her to whomyou owe all that is seemly and comfortable in my hospitality. Somehow, senores, though the flame of love has been kindled early in my breast, Ihave never married. And because of that perhaps the sparks of the sacredfire are not yet extinct here. " He struck his broad chest. "Still alive, still alive, " he said, with serio-comic emphasis. "But I shall not marrynow. She is General Santierra's adopted daughter and heiress. "

One of our fellow-guests, a young naval officer, described herafterwards as a "short, stout, old girl of forty or thereabouts. " We hadall noticed that her hair was turning grey, and that she had very fineblack eyes. 

"And, " General Santierra continued, "neither would she ever hear ofmarrying any one. A real calamity! Good, patient, devoted to the oldman. A simple soul. But I would not advise any of you to ask for herhand, for if she took yours into hers it would be only to crush yourbones. Ah! she does not jest on that subject. And she is the owndaughter of her father, the strong man who perished through his ownstrength: the strength of his body, of his simplicity--of his love!"

AN IRONIC TALE

THE INFORMER

Mr. X came to me, preceded by a letter of introduction from a goodfriend of mine in Paris, specifically to see my collection of Chinesebronzes and porcelain. 

"My friend in Paris is a collector, too. He collects neither porcelain, nor bronzes, nor pictures, nor medals, nor stamps, nor anything thatcould be profitably dispersed under an auctioneer's hammer. He wouldreject, with genuine surprise, the name of a collector. Nevertheless, that's what he is by temperament. He collects acquaintances. Itis delicate work. He brings to it the patience, the passion, thedetermination of a true collector of curiosities. His collection doesnot contain any royal personages. I don't think he considers themsufficiently rare and interesting; but, with that exception, he has metwith and talked to everyone worth knowing on any conceivable ground. Heobserves them, listens to them, penetrates them, measures them, and putsthe memory away in the galleries of his mind. He has schemed, plotted, and travelled all over Europe in order to add to his collection ofdistinguished personal acquaintances. 

"As he is wealthy, well connected, and unprejudiced, his collection ispretty complete, including objects (or should I say subjects?) whosevalue is unappreciated by the vulgar, and often unknown to popular fame. Of trevolte of modern times. The world knows him as a revolutionarywriter whose savage irony has laid bare the rottenness of the mostrespectable institutions. He has scalped every venerated head, andhas mangled at the stake of his wit every received opinion and everyrecognized principle of conduct and policy. Who does not remember hisflaming red revolutionary pamphlets? Their sudden swarmings used tooverwhelm the powers of every Continental police like a plague ofcrimson gadflies. But this extreme writer has been also the activeinspirer of secret societies, the mysterious unknown Number One ofdesperate conspiracies suspected and unsuspected, matured or baffled. And the world at large has never had an inkling of that fact! Thisaccounts for him going about amongst us to this day, a veteran of manysubterranean campaigns, standing aside now, safe within his reputationof merely the greatest destructive publicist that ever lived. "

Thus wrote my friend, adding that Mr. X was an enlightened connoisseurof bronzes and china, and asking me to show him my collection. 

X turned up in due course. My treasures are disposed in three largerooms without carpets and curtains. There is no other furniture than theetagres and the glass cases whose contents shall be worth a fortune tomy heirs. I allow no fires to be lighted, for fear of accidents, and afire-proof door separates them from the rest of the house. 

It was a bitter cold day. We kept on our overcoats and hats. Middle-sized and spare, his eyes alert in a long, Roman-nosedcountenance, X walked on his neat little feet, with short steps, and looked at my collection intelligently. I hope I looked at himintelligently, too. A snow-white moustache and imperial made hisnutbrown complexion appear darker than it really was. In his fur coatand shiny tall hat that terrible man looked fashionable. I believe hebelonged to a noble family, and could have called himself Vicomte X dela Z if he chose. We talked nothing but bronzes and porcelain. He wasremarkably appreciative. We parted on cordial terms. 

Where he was staying I don't know. I imagine he must have been a lonelyman. Anarchists, I suppose, have no families--not, at any rate, as weunderstand that social relation. Organization into families may answerto a need of human nature, but in the last instance it is based on law, and therefore must be something odious and impossible to an anarchist. But, indeed, I don't understand anarchists. Does a man of that--ofthat--persuasion still remain an anarchist when alone, quite alone andgoing to bed, for instance? Does he lay his head on the pillow, pullhis bedclothes over him, and go to sleep with the necessity of thechambardement general, as the French slang has it, of the generalblow-up, always present to his mind? And if so how can he? I am surethat if such a faith (or such a fanaticism) once mastered my thoughtsI would never be able to compose myself sufficiently to sleep or eat orperform any of the routine acts of daily life. I would want no wife, nochildren; I could have no friends, it seems to me; and as to collectingbronzes or china, that, I should say, would be quite out of thequestion. But I don't know. All I know is that Mr. X took his meals in avery good restaurant which I frequented also. 

With his head uncovered, the silver top-knot of his brushed-up haircompleted the character of his physiognomy, all bony ridges and sunkenhollows, clothed in a perfect impassiveness of expression. His meagrebrown hands emerging from large white cuffs came and went breakingbread, pouring wine, and so on, with quiet mechanical precision. His head and body above the tablecloth had a rigid immobility. Thisfirebrand, this great agitator, exhibited the least possible amount ofwarmth and animation. His voice was rasping, cold, and monotonous in alow key. He could not be called a talkative personality; but with hisdetached calm manner he appeared as ready to keep the conversation goingas to drop it at any moment. 

And his conversation was by no means commonplace. To me, I own, therewas some excitement in talking quietly across a dinner-table with aman whose venomous pen-stabs had sapped the vitality of at least onemonarchy. That much was a matter of public knowledge. But I knew more. Iknew of him--from my friend--as a certainty what the guardians of socialorder in Europe had at most only suspected, or dimly guessed at. 

He had had what I may call his underground life. And as I sat, eveningafter evening, facing him at dinner, a curiosity in that directionwould naturally arise in my mind. I am a quiet and peaceable product ofcivilization, and know no passion other than the passion for collectingthings which are rare, and must remain exquisite even if approaching tothe monstrous. Some Chinese bronzes are monstrously precious. And here(out of my friend's collection), here I had before me a kind of raremonster. It is true that this monster was polished and in a sense evenexquisite. His beautiful unruffled manner was that. But then he wasnot of bronze. He was not even Chinese, which would have enabled oneto contemplate him calmly across the gulf of racial difference. He wasalive and European; he had the manner of good society, wore a coat andhat like mine, and had pretty near the same taste in cooking. It was toofrightful to think of. 

One evening he remarked, casually, in the course of conversation, "There's no amendment to be got out of mankind except by terror andviolence. "

You can imagine the effect of such a phrase out of such a man's mouthupon a person like myself, whose whole scheme of life had been basedupon a suave and delicate discrimination of social and artistic values. Just imagine! Upon me, to whom all sorts and forms of violence appearedas unreal as the giants, ogres, and seven-headed hydras whose activitiesaffect, fantastically, the course of legends and fairy-tales!

I seemed suddenly to hear above the festive bustle and clatter of thebrilliant restaurant the mutter of a hungry and seditious multitude. 

I suppose I am impressionable and imaginative. I had a disturbingvision of darkness, full of lean jaws and wild eyes, amongst the hundredelectric lights of the place. But somehow this vision made me angry, too. The sight of that man, so calm, breaking bits of white bread, exasperated me. And I had the audacity to ask him how it was that thestarving proletariat of Europe to whom he had been preaching revolt andviolence had not been made indignant by his openly luxurious life. "Atall this, " I said, pointedly, with a glance round the room and at thebottle of champagne we generally shared between us at dinner. 

He remained unmoved. 

"Do I feed on their toil and their heart's blood? Am I a speculator or acapitalist? Did I steal my fortune from a starving people? No! Theyknow this very well. And they envy me nothing. The miserable mass of thepeople is generous to its leaders. What I have acquired has come tome through my writings; not from the millions of pamphlets distributedgratis to the hungry and the oppressed, but from the hundreds ofthousands of copies sold to the well-fed bourgeoisie. You know that mywritings were at one time the rage, the fashion--the thing to read withwonder and horror, to turn your eyes up at my pathos . . . Or else, tolaugh in ecstasies at my wit. "

"Yes, " I admitted. "I remember, of course; and I confess frankly that Icould never understand that infatuation. "

"Don't you know yet, " he said, "that an idle and selfish class loves tosee mischief being made, even if it is made at its own expense? Its ownlife being all a matter of pose and gesture, it is unable to realize thepower and the danger of a real movement and of words that have no shammeaning. It is all fun and sentiment. It is sufficient, for instance, to point out the attitude of the old French aristocracy towards thephilosophers whose words were preparing the Great Revolution. Even inEngland, where you have some common-sense, a demagogue has only to shoutloud enough and long enough to find some backing in the very class heis shouting at. You, too, like to see mischief being made. The demagoguecarries the amateurs of emotion with him. Amateurism in this, that, andthe other thing is a delightfully easy way of killing time, and feedingone's own vanity--the silly vanity of being abreast with the ideas ofthe day after to-morrow. Just as good and otherwise harmless people willjoin you in ecstasies over your collection without having the slightestnotion in what its marvellousness really consists. "

I hung my head. It was a crushing illustration of the sad truth headvanced. The world is full of such people. And that instance of theFrench aristocracy before the Revolution was extremely telling, too. I could not traverse his statement, though its cynicism--always adistasteful trait--took off much of its value to my mind. However, Iadmit I was impressed. I felt the need to say something which would notbe in the nature of assent and yet would not invite discussion. 

"You don't mean to say, " I observed, airily, "that extremerevolutionists have ever been actively assisted by the infatuation ofsuch people?"

"I did not mean exactly that by what I said just now. I generalized. But since you ask me, I may tell you that such help has been givento revolutionary activities, more or less consciously, in variouscountries. And even in this country. "

"Impossible!" I protested with firmness. "We don't play with fire tothat extent. "

"And yet you can better afford it than others, perhaps. But let meobserve that most women, if not always ready to play with fire, aregenerally eager to play with a loose spark or so. "

"Is this a joke?" I asked, smiling. 

"If it is, I am not aware of it, " he said, woodenly. "I was thinking ofan instance. Oh! mild enough in a way . . . "

I became all expectation at this. I had tried many times to approach himon his underground side, so to speak. The very word had been pronouncedbetween us. But he had always met me with his impenetrable calm. 

"And at the same time, " Mr. X continued, "it will give you a notionof the difficulties that may arise in what you are pleased to callunderground work. It is sometimes difficult to deal with them. Of coursethere is no hierarchy amongst the affiliated. No rigid system. "

My surprise was great, but short-lived. Clearly, amongst extremeanarchists there could be no hierarchy; nothing in the nature of alaw of precedence. The idea of anarchy ruling among anarchists wascomforting, too. It could not possibly make for efficiency. 

Mr. X startled me by asking, abruptly, "You know Hermione Street?"

I nodded doubtful assent. Hermione Street has been, within the lastthree years, improved out of any man's knowledge. The name exists still, but not one brick or stone of the old Hermione Street is left now. Itwas the old street he meant, for he said:

"There was a row of two-storied brick houses on the left, with theirbacks against the wing of a great public building--you remember. Wouldit surprise you very much to hear that one of these houses was fora time the centre of anarchist propaganda and of what you would callunderground action?"

"Not at all, " I declared. Hermione Street had never been particularlyrespectable, as I remembered it. 

"The house was the property of a distinguished government official, " headded, sipping his champagne. 

"Oh, indeed!" I said, this time not believing a word of it. 

"Of course he was not living there, " Mr. X continued. "But from ten tillfour he sat next door to it, the dear man, in his well-appointed privateroom in the wing of the public building I've mentioned. To be strictlyaccurate, I must explain that the house in Hermione Street did notreally belong to him. It belonged to his grown-up children--a daughterand a son. The girl, a fine figure, was by no means vulgarly pretty. To more personal charm than mere youth could account for, she addedthe seductive appearance of enthusiasm, of independence, of courageousthought. I suppose she put on these appearances as she put on herpicturesque dresses and for the same reason: to assert her individualityat any cost. You know, women would go to any length almost for sucha purpose. She went to a great length. She had acquired all theappropriate gestures of revolutionary convictions--the gestures of pity, of anger, of indignation against the anti-humanitarian vices of thesocial class to which she belonged herself. All this sat on her strikingpersonality as well as her slightly original costumes. Very slightlyoriginal; just enough to mark a protest against the philistinism of theoverfed taskmasters of the poor. Just enough, and no more. It would nothave done to go too far in that direction--you understand. But she wasof age, and nothing stood in the way of her offering her house to therevolutionary workers. "

"You don't mean it!" I cried. 

"I assure you, " he affirmed, "that she made that very practical gesture. How else could they have got hold of it? The cause is not rich. And, moreover, there would have been difficulties with any ordinaryhouse-agent, who would have wanted references and so on. The group shecame in contact with while exploring the poor quarters of the town(you know the gesture of charity and personal service which was sofashionable some years ago) accepted with gratitude. The first advantagewas that Hermione Street is, as you know, well away from the suspectpart of the town, specially watched by the police. 

"The ground floor consisted of a little Italian restaurant, of theflyblown sort. There was no difficulty in buying the proprietor out. Awoman and a man belonging to the group took it on. The man had been acook. The comrades could get their meals there, unnoticed amongstthe other customers. This was another advantage. The first floor wasoccupied by a shabby Variety Artists' Agency--an agency for performersin inferior music-halls, you know. A fellow called Bomm, I remember. Hewas not disturbed. It was rather favourable than otherwise to have a lotof foreign-looking people, jugglers, acrobats, singers of both sexes, and so on, going in and out all day long. The police paid no attentionto new faces, you see. The top floor happened, most conveniently, tostand empty then. "

X interrupted himself to attack impassively, with measured movements, a bombe glacee which the waiter had just set down on the table. Heswallowed carefully a few spoonfuls of the iced sweet, and asked me, "Did you ever hear of Stone's Dried Soup?"

"Hear of what?"

"It was, " X pursued, evenly, "a comestible article once ratherprominently advertised in the dailies, but which never, somehow, gainedthe favour of the public. The enterprise fizzled out, as you say here. Parcels of their stock could be picked up at auctions at considerablyless than a penny a pound. The group bought some of it, and an agencyfor Stone's Dried Soup was started on the top floor. A perfectlyrespectable business. The stuff, a yellow powder of extremelyunappetizing aspect, was put up in large square tins, of which six wentto a case. If anybody ever came to give an order, it was, of course, executed. But the advantage of the powder was this, that things could beconcealed in it very conveniently. Now and then a special case got puton a van and sent off to be exported abroad under the very nose of thepoliceman on duty at the corner. You understand?"

"I think I do, " I said, with an expressive nod at the remnants of thebombe melting slowly in the dish. 

"Exactly. But the cases were useful in another way, too. In thebasement, or in the cellar at the back, rather, two printing-presseswere established. A lot of revolutionary literature of the mostinflammatory kind was got away from the house in Stone's Dried Soupcases. The brother of our anarchist young lady found some occupationthere. He wrote articles, helped to set up type and pull off the sheets, and generally assisted the man in charge, a very able young fellowcalled Sevrin. 

"The guiding spirit of that group was a fanatic of social revolution. Heis dead now. He was an engraver and etcher of genius. You must have seenhis work. It is much sought after by certain amateurs now. He began bybeing revolutionary in his art, and ended by becoming a revolutionist, after his wife and child had died in want and misery. He used to saythat the bourgeoisie, the smug, overfed lot, had killed them. That washis real belief. He still worked at his art and led a double life. Hewas tall, gaunt, and swarthy, with a long, brown beard and deep-seteyes. You must have seen him. His name was Horne. "

At this I was really startled. Of course years ago I used to meet Horneabout. He looked like a powerful, rough gipsy, in an old top hat, with ared muffler round his throat and buttoned up in a long, shabby overcoat. He talked of his art with exaltation, and gave one the impression ofbeing strung up to the verge of insanity. A small group of connoisseursappreciated his work. Who would have thought that this man. . . . Amazing! And yet it was not, after all, so difficult to believe. 

"As you see, " X went on, "this group was in a position to pursueits work of propaganda, and the other kind of work, too, under veryadvantageous conditions. They were all resolute, experienced men ofa superior stamp. And yet we became struck at length by the fact thatplans prepared in Hermione Street almost invariably failed. "

"Who were 'we'?" I asked, pointedly. 

"Some of us in Brussels--at the centre, " he said, hastily. "Whatevervigorous action originated in Hermione Street seemed doomed to failure. Something always happened to baffle the best planned manifestations inevery part of Europe. It was a time of general activity. You must notimagine that all our failures are of a loud sort, with arrests andtrials. That is not so. Often the police work quietly, almost secretly, defeating our combinations by clever counter-plotting. No arrests, nonoise, no alarming of the public mind and inflaming the passions. Itis a wise procedure. But at that time the police were too uniformlysuccessful from the Mediterranean to the Baltic. It was annoying andbegan to look dangerous. At last we came to the conclusion that theremust be some untrustworthy elements amongst the London groups. And Icame over to see what could be done quietly. 

"My first step was to call upon our young Lady Amateur of anarchism ather private house. She received me in a flattering way. I judged thatshe knew nothing of the chemical and other operations going on atthe top of the house in Hermione Street. The printing of anarchistliterature was the only 'activity' she seemed to be aware of there. Shewas displaying very strikingly the usual signs of severe enthusiasm, and had already written many sentimental articles with ferociousconclusions. I could see she was enjoying herself hugely, with all thegestures and grimaces of deadly earnestness. They suited her big-eyed, broad-browed face and the good carriage of her shapely head, crowned bya magnificent lot of brown hair done in an unusual and becoming style. Her brother was in the room, too, a serious youth, with arched eyebrowsand wearing a red necktie, who struck me as being absolutely in the darkabout everything in the world, including himself. By and by a tall youngman came in. He was clean-shaved with a strong bluish jaw and somethingof the air of a taciturn actor or of a fanatical priest: the type withthick black eyebrows--you know. But he was very presentable indeed. Heshook hands at once vigorously with each of us. The young lady came upto me and murmured sweetly, 'Comrade Sevrin. '

"I had never seen him before. He had little to say to us, but satdown by the side of the girl, and they fell at once into earnestconversation. She leaned forward in her deep armchair, and took hernicely rounded chin in her beautiful white hand. He looked attentivelyinto her eyes. It was the attitude of love-making, serious, intense, asif on the brink of the grave. I suppose she felt it necessary toround and complete her assumption of advanced ideas, of revolutionarylawlessness, by making believe to be in love with an anarchist. And thisone, I repeat, was extremely presentable, notwithstanding his fanaticalblack-browed aspect. After a few stolen glances in their direction, Ihad no doubt that he was in earnest. As to the lady, her gestureswere unapproachable, better than the very thing itself in the blendedsuggestion of dignity, sweetness, condescension, fascination, surrender, and reserve. She interpreted her conception of what that precise sortof love-making should be with consummate art. And so far, she, too, nodoubt, was in earnest. Gestures--but so perfect!

"After I had been left alone with our Lady Amateur I informed herguardedly of the object of my visit. I hinted at our suspicions. Iwanted to hear what she would have to say, and half expected someperhaps unconscious revelation. All she said was, 'That's serious, 'looking delightfully concerned and grave. But there was a sparkle in hereyes which meant plainly, 'How exciting!' After all, she knew littleof anything except of words. Still, she undertook to put me incommunication with Horne, who was not easy to find unless in HermioneStreet, where I did not wish to show myself just then. 

"I met Horne. This was another kind of a fanatic altogether. I exposedto him the conclusion we in Brussels had arrived at, and pointed outthe significant series of failures. To this he answered with irrelevantexaltation:

"'I have something in hand that shall strike terror into the heart ofthese gorged brutes. '

"And then I learned that, by excavating in one of the cellars of thehouse, he and some companions had made their way into the vaults underthe great public building I have mentioned before. The blowing up of awhole wing was a certainty as soon as the materials were ready. 

"I was not so appalled at the stupidity of that move as I might havebeen had not the usefulness of our centre in Hermione Street becomealready very problematical. In fact, in my opinion it was much more of apolice trap by this time than anything else. 

"What was necessary now was to discover what, or rather who, was wrong, and I managed at last to get that idea into Horne's head. He glared, perplexed, his nostrils working as if he were sniffing treachery in theair. 

"And here comes a piece of work which will no doubt strike you as a sortof theatrical expedient. And yet what else could have been done? Theproblem was to find out the untrustworthy member of the group. But nosuspicion could be fastened on one more than another. To set a watchupon them all was not very practicable. Besides, that proceeding oftenfails. In any case, it takes time, and the danger was pressing. I feltcertain that the premises in Hermione Street would be ultimately raided, though the police had evidently such confidence in the informer that thehouse, for the time being, was not even watched. Horne was positiveon that point. Under the circumstances it was an unfavourable symptom. Something had to be done quickly. 

"I decided to organize a raid myself upon the group. Do you understand?A raid of other trusty comrades personating the police. A conspiracywithin a conspiracy. You see the object of it, of course. Whenapparently about to be arrested I hoped the informer would betrayhimself in some way or other; either by some unguarded act or simply byhis unconcerned demeanour, for instance. Of coarse there was the riskof complete failure and the no lesser risk of some fatal accident in thecourse of resistance, perhaps, or in the efforts at escape. For, asyou will easily see, the Hermione Street group had to be actually andcompletely taken unawares, as I was sure they would be by the realpolice before very long. The informer was amongst them, and Horne alonecould be let into the secret of my plan. 

"I will not enter into the detail of my preparations. It was not veryeasy to arrange, but it was done very well, with a really convincingeffect. The sham police invaded the restaurant, whose shutters wereimmediately put up. The surprise was perfect. Most of the HermioneStreet party were found in the second cellar, enlarging the holecommunicating with the vaults of the great public building. At the firstalarm, several comrades bolted through impulsively into the aforesaidvault, where, of course, had this been a genuine raid, they would havebeen hopelessly trapped. We did not bother about them for the moment. They were harmless enough. The top floor caused considerable anxietyto Horne and myself. There, surrounded by tins of Stone's Dried Soup, a comrade, nick-named the Professor (he was an ex-science student)was engaged in perfecting some new detonators. He was an abstracted, self-confident, sallow little man, armed with large round spectacles, and we were afraid that under a mistaken impression he would blowhimself up and wreck the house about our ears. I rushed upstairs andfound him already at the door, on the alert, listening, as he said, to'suspicious noises down below. ' Before I had quite finished explainingto him what was going on he shrugged his shoulders disdainfully andturned away to his balances and test-tubes. His was the true spiritof an extreme revolutionist. Explosives were his faith, his hope, hisweapon, and his shield. He perished a couple of years afterwards in asecret laboratory through the premature explosion of one of his improveddetonators. 

"Hurrying down again, I found an impressive scene in the gloom of thebig cellar. The man who personated the inspector (he was no strangerto the part) was speaking harshly, and giving bogus orders to hisbogus subordinates for the removal of his prisoners. Evidently nothingenlightening had happened so far. Horne, saturnine and swarthy, waitedwith folded arms, and his patient, moody expectation had an air ofstoicism well in keeping with the situation. I detected in the shadowsone of the Hermione Street group surreptitiously chewing up andswallowing a small piece of paper. Some compromising scrap, I suppose;perhaps just a note of a few names and addresses. He was a true andfaithful 'companion. ' But the fund of secret malice which lurks at thebottom of our sympathies caused me to feel amused at that perfectlyuncalled-for performance. 

"In every other respect the risky experiment, the theatrical coup, if youlike to call it so, seemed to have failed. The deception could notbe kept up much longer; the explanation would bring about a veryembarrassing and even grave situation. The man who had eaten the paperwould be furious. The fellows who had bolted away would be angry, too. 

"To add to my vexation, the door communicating with the other cellar, where the printing-presses were, flew open, and our young ladyrevolutionist appeared, a black silhouette in a close-fitting dress anda large hat, with the blaze of gas flaring in there at her back. Overher shoulder I perceived the arched eyebrows and the red necktie of herbrother. 

"The last people in the world I wanted to see then! They had gone thatevening to some amateur concert for the delectation of the poor people, you know; but she had insisted on leaving early, on purpose to call inHermione Street on the way home, under the pretext of having some workto do. Her usual task was to correct the proofs of the Italian andFrench editions of the Alarm Bell and the Firebrand. " . . . 

"Heavens!" I murmured. I had been shown once a few copies of thesepublications. Nothing, in my opinion, could have been less fit for theeyes of a young lady. They were the most advanced things of the sort;advanced, I mean, beyond all bounds of reason and decency. One of thempreached the dissolution of all social and domestic ties; the otheradvocated systematic murder. To think of a young girl calmly trackingprinters' errors all along the sort of abominable sentences I rememberedwas intolerable to my sentiment of womanhood. Mr. X, after giving me aglance, pursued steadily. 

"I think, however, that she came mostly to exercise her fascinationsupon Sevrin, and to receive his homage in her queenly and condescendingway. She was aware of both--her power and his homage--and enjoyed themwith, I dare say, complete innocence. We have no ground in expediencyor morals to quarrel with her on that account. Charm in woman andexceptional intelligence in man are a law unto themselves. Is it notso?"

I refrained from expressing my abhorrence of that licentious doctrinebecause of my curiosity. 

"But what happened then?" I hastened to ask. 

X went on crumbling slowly a small piece of bread with a careless lefthand. 

"What happened, in effect, " he confessed, "is that she saved thesituation. "

"She gave you an opportunity to end your rather sinister farce, " Isuggested. 

"Yes, " he said, preserving his impassive bearing. "The farce was boundto end soon. And it ended in a very few minutes. And it ended well. Hadshe not come in, it might have ended badly. Her brother, of course, didnot count. They had slipped into the house quietly some time before. Theprinting-cellar had an entrance of its own. Not finding any one there, she sat down to her proofs, expecting Sevrin to return to his work atany moment. He did not do so. She grew impatient, heard through the doorthe sounds of a disturbance in the other cellar and naturally came in tosee what was the matter. 

"Sevrin had been with us. At first he had seemed to me the most amazedof the whole raided lot. He appeared for an instant as if paralyzedwith astonishment. He stood rooted to the spot. He never moved a limb. Asolitary gas-jet flared near his head; all the other lights had been putout at the first alarm. And presently, from my dark corner, I observedon his shaven actor's face an expression of puzzled, vexed watchfulness. He knitted his heavy eyebrows. The corners of his mouth droppedscornfully. He was angry. Most likely he had seen through the game, and I regretted I had not taken him from the first into my completeconfidence. 

"But with the appearance of the girl he became obviously alarmed. It wasplain. I could see it grow. The change of his expression was swift andstartling. And I did not know why. The reason never occurred to me. Iwas merely astonished at the extreme alteration of the man's face. Ofcourse he had not been aware of her presence in the other cellar; butthat did not explain the shock her advent had given him. For a moment heseemed to have been reduced to imbecility. He opened his mouth as if toshout, or perhaps only to gasp. At any rate, it was somebody else whoshouted. This somebody else was the heroic comrade whom I had detectedswallowing a piece of paper. With laudable presence of mind he let out awarning yell. 

"'It's the police! Back! Back! Run back, and bolt the door behind you. '

"It was an excellent hint; but instead of retreating the girl continuedto advance, followed by her long-faced brother in his knickerbocker suit, in which he had been singing comic songs for the entertainment ofa joyless proletariat. She advanced not as if she had failed tounderstand--the word 'police' has an unmistakable sound--but rather asif she could not help herself. She did not advance with the free gaitand expanding presence of a distinguished amateur anarchist amongstpoor, struggling professionals, but with slightly raised shoulders, and her elbows pressed close to her body, as if trying to shrink withinherself. Her eyes were fixed immovably upon Sevrin. Sevrin the man, Ifancy; not Sevrin the anarchist. But she advanced. And that was natural. For all their assumption of independence, girls of that class are usedto the feeling of being specially protected, as, in fact, they are. Thisfeeling accounts for nine tenths of their audacious gestures. Her facehad gone completely colourless. Ghastly. Fancy having it brought home toher so brutally that she was the sort of person who must run away fromthe police! I believe she was pale with indignation, mostly, thoughthere was, of course, also the concern for her intact personality, avague dread of some sort of rudeness. And, naturally, she turned to aman, to the man on whom she had a claim of fascination and homage--theman who could not conceivably fail her at any juncture. "

"But, " I cried, amazed at this analysis, "if it had been serious, real, I mean--as she thought it was--what could she expect him to do for her?"

X never moved a muscle of his face. 

"Goodness knows. I imagine that this charming, generous, and independentcreature had never known in her life a single genuine thought; I mean asingle thought detached from small human vanities, or whose source wasnot in some conventional perception. All I know is that after advancinga few steps she extended her hand towards the motionless Sevrin. Andthat at least was no gesture. It was a natural movement. As to whatshe expected him to do, who can tell? The impossible. But whatever sheexpected, it could not have come up, I am safe to say, to what he hadmade up his mind to do, even before that entreating hand had appealed tohim so directly. It had not been necessary. From the moment he had seenher enter that cellar, he had made up his mind to sacrifice his futureusefulness, to throw off the impenetrable, solidly fastened mask it hadbeen his pride to wear--"

"What do you mean?" I interrupted, puzzled. "Was it Sevrin, then, whowas--"

"He was. The most persistent, the most dangerous, the craftiest, themost systematic of informers. A genius amongst betrayers. Fortunatelyfor us, he was unique. The man was a fanatic, I have told you. Fortunately, again, for us, he had fallen in love with the accomplishedand innocent gestures of that girl. An actor in desperate earnesthimself, he must have believed in the absolute value of conventionalsigns. As to the grossness of the trap into which he fell, theexplanation must be that two sentiments of such absorbing magnitudecannot exist simultaneously in one heart. The danger of that other andunconscious comedian robbed him of his vision, of his perspicacity, ofhis judgment. Indeed, it did at first rob him of his self-possession. But he regained that through the necessity--as it appeared to himimperiously--to do something at once. To do what? Why, to get her out ofthe house as quickly as possible. He was desperately anxious to do that. I have told you he was terrified. It could not be about himself. He hadbeen surprised and annoyed at a move quite unforeseen and premature. Imay even say he had been furious. He was accustomed to arrange thelast scene of his betrayals with a deep, subtle art which left hisrevolutionist reputation untouched. But it seems clear to me that atthe same time he had resolved to make the best of it, to keep his maskresolutely on. It was only with the discovery of her being in the housethat everything--the forced calm, the restraint of his fanaticism, themask--all came off together in a kind of panic. Why panic, do you ask?The answer is very simple. He remembered--or, I dare say, he had neverforgotten--the Professor alone at the top of the house, pursuing hisresearches, surrounded by tins upon tins of Stone's Dried Soup. Therewas enough in some few of them to bury us all where we stood undera heap of bricks. Sevrin, of course, was aware of that. And we mustbelieve, also, that he knew the exact character of the man. He hadgauged so many such characters! Or perhaps he only gave the Professorcredit for what he himself was capable of. But, in any case, the effectwas produced. And suddenly he raised his voice in authority. 

"'Get the lady away at once. '

"It turned out that he was as hoarse as a crow; result, no doubt, ofthe intense emotion. It passed off in a moment. But these fateful wordsissued forth from his contracted throat in a discordant, ridiculouscroak. They required no answer. The thing was done. However, the manpersonating the inspector judged it expedient to say roughly:

"'She shall go soon enough, together with the rest of you. '

"These were the last words belonging to the comedy part of this affair. 

"Oblivious of everything and everybody, Sevrin strode towards him andseized the lapels of his coat. Under his thin bluish cheeks one couldsee his jaws working with passion. 

"'You have men posted outside. Get the lady taken home at once. Do youhear? Now. Before you try to get hold of the man upstairs. '

"'Oh! There is a man upstairs, ' scoffed the other, openly. 'Well, heshall be brought down in time to see the end of this. '

"But Sevrin, beside himself, took no heed of the tone. 

"'Who's the imbecile meddler who sent you blundering here? Didn't youunderstand your instructions? Don't you know anything? It's incredible. Here--'

"He dropped the lapels of the coat and, plunging his hand into hisbreast, jerked feverishly at something under his shirt. At last heproduced a small square pocket of soft leather, which must have beenhanging like a scapulary from his neck by the tape whose broken endsdangled from his fist. 

"'Look inside, ' he spluttered, flinging it in the other's face. Andinstantly he turned round towards the girl. She stood just behind him, perfectly still and silent. Her set, white face gave an illusion ofplacidity. Only her staring eyes seemed bigger and darker. 

"He spoke rapidly, with nervous assurance. I heard him distinctlypromise her to make everything as clear as daylight presently. But thatwas all I caught. He stood close to her, never attempting to touch hereven with the tip of his little finger--and she stared at him stupidly. For a moment, however, her eyelids descended slowly, pathetically, and then, with the long black eyelashes lying on her white cheeks, shelooked ready to fall down in a swoon. But she never even swayed whereshe stood. He urged her loudly to follow him at once, and walked towardsthe door at the bottom of the cellar stairs without looking behind him. And, as a matter of fact, she did move after him a pace or two. But, of course, he was not allowed to reach the door. There were angryexclamations, a short, fierce scuffle. Flung away violently, he cameflying backwards upon her, and fell. She threw out her arms in a gestureof dismay and stepped aside, just clear of his head, which struck theground heavily near her shoe. 

"He grunted with the shock. By the time he had picked himself up, slowly, dazedly, he was awake to the reality of things. The man intowhose hands he had thrust the leather case had extracted therefrom anarrow strip of bluish paper. He held it up above his head, and, asafter the scuffle an expectant uneasy stillness reigned once more, hethrew it down disdainfully with the words, 'I think, comrades, that thisproof was hardly necessary. '

"Quick as thought, the girl stooped after the fluttering slip. Holdingit spread out in both hands, she looked at it; then, without raising hereyes, opened her fingers slowly and let it fall. 

"I examined that curious document afterwards. It was signed by a veryhigh personage, and stamped and countersigned by other high officialsin various countries of Europe. In his trade--or shall I say, in hismission?--that sort of talisman might have been necessary, no doubt. Even to the police itself--all but the heads--he had been known only asSevrin the noted anarchist. 

"He hung his head, biting his lower lip. A change had come over him, a sort of thoughtful, absorbed calmness. Nevertheless, he panted. Hissides worked visibly, and his nostrils expanded and collapsed in weirdcontrast with his sombre aspect of a fanatical monk in a meditativeattitude, but with something, too, in his face of an actor intent uponthe terrible exigencies of his part. Before him Horne declaimed, haggardand bearded, like an inspired denunciatory prophet from a wilderness. Two fanatics. They were made to understand each other. Does thissurprise you? I suppose you think that such people would be foaming atthe mouth and snarling at each other?"

I protested hastily that I was not surprised in the least; that Ithought nothing of the kind; that anarchists in general were simplyinconceivable to me mentally, morally, logically, sentimentally, andeven physically. X received this declaration with his usual woodennessand went on. 

"Horne had burst out into eloquence. While pouring out scornfulinvective, he let tears escape from his eyes and roll down his blackbeard unheeded. Sevrin panted quicker and quicker. When he opened hismouth to speak, everyone hung on his words. 

"'Don't be a fool, Horne, ' he began. 'You know very well that I havedone this for none of the reasons you are throwing at me. ' And in amoment he became outwardly as steady as a rock under the other's luridstare. 'I have been thwarting, deceiving, and betraying you--fromconviction. '

"He turned his back on Horne, and addressing the girl, repeated thewords: 'From conviction. '

"It's extraordinary how cold she looked. I suppose she could not thinkof any appropriate gesture. There can have been few precedents indeedfor such a situation. 

"'Clear as daylight, ' he added. 'Do you understand what that means? Fromconviction. '

"And still she did not stir. She did not know what to do. But theluckless wretch was about to give her the opportunity for a beautifuland correct gesture. 

"'I have felt in me the power to make you share this conviction, ' heprotested, ardently. He had forgotten himself; he made a step towardsher--perhaps he stumbled. To me he seemed to be stooping low as if totouch the hem of her garment. And then the appropriate gesture came. Shesnatched her skirt away from his polluting contact and averted herhead with an upward tilt. It was magnificently done, this gesture ofconventionally unstained honour, of an unblemished high-minded amateur. 

"Nothing could have been better. And he seemed to think so, too, foronce more he turned away. But this time he faced no one. He was againpanting frightfully, while he fumbled hurriedly in his waistcoat pocket, and then raised his hand to his lips. There was something furtive inthis movement, but directly afterwards his bearing changed. His labouredbreathing gave him a resemblance to a man who had just run a desperaterace; but a curious air of detachment, of sudden and profoundindifference, replaced the strain of the striving effort. The race wasover. I did not want to see what would happen next. I was only too wellaware. I tucked the young lady's arm under mine without a word, and mademy way with her to the stairs. 

"Her brother walked behind us. Half-way up the short flight she seemedunable to lift her feet high enough for the steps, and we had to pulland push to get her to the top. In the passage she dragged herselfalong, hanging on my arm, helplessly bent like an old woman. We issuedinto an empty street through a half-open door, staggering like besottedrevellers. At the corner we stopped a four-wheeler, and the ancientdriver looked round from his box with morose scorn at our efforts to gether in. Twice during the drive I felt her collapse on my shoulder in ahalf faint. Facing us, the youth in knickerbockers remained as mute as afish, and, till he jumped out with the latch-key, sat more still than Iwould have believed it possible. 

"At the door of their drawing-room she left my arm and walked in first, catching at the chairs and tables. She unpinned her hat, then, exhaustedwith the effort, her cloak still hanging from her shoulders, flungherself into a deep armchair, sideways, her face half buried in acushion. The good brother appeared silently before her with a glass ofwater. She motioned it away. He drank it himself and walked off to adistant corner--behind the grand piano, somewhere. All was still in thisroom where I had seen, for the first time, Sevrin, the anti-anarchist, captivated and spellbound by the consummate and hereditary grimaces thatin a certain sphere of life take the place of feelings with an excellenteffect. I suppose her thoughts were busy with the same memory. Hershoulders shook violently. A pure attack of nerves. When it quieted downshe affected firmness, 'What is done to a man of that sort? What willthey do to him?'

"'Nothing. They can do nothing to him, ' I assured her, with perfecttruth. I was pretty certain he had died in less than twenty minutesfrom the moment his hand had gone to his lips. For if his fanaticalanti-anarchism went even as far as carrying poison in his pocket, only torob his adversaries of legitimate vengeance, I knew he would take careto provide something that would not fail him when required. 

"She drew an angry breath. There were red spots on her cheeks and afeverish brilliance in her eyes. 

"'Has ever any one been exposed to such a terrible experience? To thinkthat he had held my hand! That man!' Her face twitched, she gulped downa pathetic sob. 'If I ever felt sure of anything, it was of Sevrin'shigh-minded motives. '

"Then she began to weep quietly, which was good for her. Then throughher flood of tears, half resentful, 'What was it he said to me?--"Fromconviction!" It seemed a vile mockery. What could he mean by it?'

"'That, my dear young lady, ' I said, gently, 'is more than I or anybodyelse can ever explain to you. '"

Mr. X flicked a crumb off the front of his coat. 

"And that was strictly true as to her. Though Horne, for instance, understood very well; and so did I, especially after we had been toSevrin's lodging in a dismal back street of an intensely respectablequarter. Horne was known there as a friend, and we had no difficulty inbeing admitted, the slatternly maid merely remarking, as she let us in, that 'Mr Sevrin had not been home that night. ' We forced open a coupleof drawers in the way of duty, and found a little useful information. The most interesting part was his diary; for this man, engaged in suchdeadly work, had the weakness to keep a record of the most damnatorykind. There were his acts and also his thoughts laid bare to us. But thedead don't mind that. They don't mind anything. 

"'From conviction. ' Yes. A vague but ardent humanitarianism had urgedhim in his first youth into the bitterest extremity of negation andrevolt. Afterwards his optimism flinched. He doubted and became lost. You have heard of converted atheists. These turn often into dangerousfanatics, but the soul remains the same. After he had got acquaintedwith the girl, there are to be met in that diary of his very queerpolitico-amorous rhapsodies. He took her sovereign grimaces with deadlyseriousness. He longed to convert her. But all this cannot interest you. For the rest, I don't know if you remember--it is a good many years agonow--the journalistic sensation of the 'Hermione Street Mystery'; thefinding of a man's body in the cellar of an empty house; the inquest;some arrests; many surmises--then silence--the usual end for manyobscure martyrs and confessors. The fact is, he was not enough of anoptimist. You must be a savage, tyrannical, pitiless, thick-and-thinoptimist, like Horne, for instance, to make a good social rebel of theextreme type. 

"He rose from the table. A waiter hurried up with his overcoat; anotherheld his hat in readiness. 

"But what became of the young lady?" I asked. 

"Do you really want to know?" he said, buttoning himself in his fur coatcarefully. "I confess to the small malice of sending her Sevrin's diary. She went into retirement; then she went to Florence; then she went intoretreat in a convent. I can't tell where she will go next. What does itmatter? Gestures! Gestures! Mere gestures of her class. "

"He fitted on his glossy high hat with extreme precision, and castinga rapid glance round the room, full of well-dressed people, innocentlydining, muttered between his teeth:

"And nothing else! That is why their kind is fated to perish. "

"I never met Mr. X again after that evening. I took to dining at my club. On my next visit to Paris I found my friend all impatience to hear ofthe effect produced on me by this rare item of his collection. Itold him all the story, and he beamed on me with the pride of hisdistinguished specimen. 

"'Isn't X well worth knowing?' he bubbled over in great delight. 'He'sunique, amazing, absolutely terrific. '

"His enthusiasm grated upon my finer feelings. I told him curtly that theman's cynicism was simply abominable. 

"'Oh, abominable! abominable!' assented my friend, effusively. 'And then, you know, he likes to have his little joke sometimes, ' he added in aconfidential tone. 

"I fail to understand the connection of this last remark. I have beenutterly unable to discover where in all this the joke comes in. "

AN INDIGNANT TALE

THE BRUTE

Dodging in from the rain-swept street, I exchanged a smile and aglance with Miss Blank in the bar of the Three Crows. This exchange waseffected with extreme propriety. It is a shock to think that, if stillalive, Miss Blank must be something over sixty now. How time passes!

Noticing my gaze directed inquiringly at the partition of glass andvarnished wood, Miss Blank was good enough to say, encouragingly:

"Only Mr. Jermyn and Mr. Stonor in the parlour with another gentlemanI've never seen before. "

I moved towards the parlour door. A voice discoursing on the other side(it was but a matchboard partition), rose so loudly that the concludingwords became quite plain in all their atrocity. 

"That fellow Wilmot fairly dashed her brains out, and a good job, too!"

This inhuman sentiment, since there was nothing profane or improperin it, failed to do as much as to check the slight yawn Miss Blankwas achieving behind her hand. And she remained gazing fixedly at thewindow-panes, which streamed with rain. 

As I opened the parlour door the same voice went on in the same cruelstrain:

"I was glad when I heard she got the knock from somebody at last. Sorryenough for poor Wilmot, though. That man and I used to be chums at onetime. Of course that was the end of him. A clear case if there ever wasone. No way out of it. None at all. "

The voice belonged to the gentleman Miss Blank had never seen before. Hestraddled his long legs on the hearthrug. Jermyn, leaning forward, held his pocket-handkerchief spread out before the grate. He looked backdismally over his shoulder, and as I slipped behind one of thelittle wooden tables, I nodded to him. On the other side of the fire, imposingly calm and large, sat Mr. Stonor, jammed tight into a capaciousWindsor armchair. There was nothing small about him but his short, whiteside-whiskers. Yards and yards of extra superfine blue cloth (made upinto an overcoat) reposed on a chair by his side. And he must just havebrought some liner from sea, because another chair was smothered underhis black waterproof, ample as a pall, and made of three-fold oiledsilk, double-stitched throughout. A man's hand-bag of the usual sizelooked like a child's toy on the floor near his feet. 

I did not nod to him. He was too big to be nodded to in that parlour. He was a senior Trinity pilot and condescended to take his turn in thecutter only during the summer months. He had been many times in chargeof royal yachts in and out of Port Victoria. Besides, it's no usenodding to a monument. And he was like one. He didn't speak, he didn'tbudge. He just sat there, holding his handsome old head up, immovable, and almost bigger than life. It was extremely fine. Mr. Stonor'spresence reduced poor old Jermyn to a mere shabby wisp of a man, andmade the talkative stranger in tweeds on the hearthrug look absurdlyboyish. The latter must have been a few years over thirty, and wascertainly not the sort of individual that gets abashed at the soundof his own voice, because gathering me in, as it were, by a friendlyglance, he kept it going without a check. 

"I was glad of it, " he repeated, emphatically. "You may be surprised atit, but then you haven't gone through the experience I've had of her. I can tell you, it was something to remember. Of course, I got off scotfree myself--as you can see. She did her best to break up my pluck forme tho'. She jolly near drove as fine a fellow as ever lived into amadhouse. What do you say to that--eh?"

Not an eyelid twitched in Mr. Stonor's enormous face. Monumental! Thespeaker looked straight into my eyes. 

"It used to make me sick to think of her going about the world murderingpeople. "

Jermyn approached the handkerchief a little nearer to the grate andgroaned. It was simply a habit he had. 

"I've seen her once, " he declared, with mournful indifference. "She hada house--"

The stranger in tweeds turned to stare down at him, surprised. 

"She had three houses, " he corrected, authoritatively. But Jermyn wasnot to be contradicted. 

"She had a house, I say, " he repeated, with dismal obstinacy. "A great, big, ugly, white thing. You could see it from miles away--sticking up. "

"So you could, " assented the other readily. "It was old Colchester'snotion, though he was always threatening to give her up. He couldn'tstand her racket any more, he declared; it was too much of a goodthing for him; he would wash his hands of her, if he never got hold ofanother--and so on. I daresay he would have chucked her, only--it maysurprise you--his missus wouldn't hear of it. Funny, eh? But with women, you never know how they will take a thing, and Mrs. Colchester, with hermoustaches and big eyebrows, set up for being as strong-minded as theymake them. She used to walk about in a brown silk dress, with a greatgold cable flopping about her bosom. You should have heard her snappingout: 'Rubbish!' or 'Stuff and nonsense!' I daresay she knew when she waswell off. They had no children, and had never set up a home anywhere. When in England she just made shift to hang out anyhow in some cheaphotel or boarding-house. I daresay she liked to get back to the comfortsshe was used to. She knew very well she couldn't gain by any change. And, moreover, Colchester, though a first-rate man, was not what youmay call in his first youth, and, perhaps, she may have thought that hewouldn't be able to get hold of another (as he used to say) so easily. Anyhow, for one reason or another, it was 'Rubbish' and 'Stuff andnonsense' for the good lady. I overheard once young Mr. Apse himself sayto her confidentially: 'I assure you, Mrs. Colchester, I am beginning tofeel quite unhappy about the name she's getting for herself. ' 'Oh, ' saysshe, with her deep little hoarse laugh, 'if one took notice of all thesilly talk, ' and she showed Apse all her ugly false teeth at once. 'Itwould take more than that to make me lose my confidence in her, I assureyou, ' says she. "

At this point, without any change of facial expression, Mr. Stonoremitted a short, sardonic laugh. It was very impressive, but I didn'tsee the fun. I looked from one to another. The stranger on the hearthrughad an ugly smile. 

"And Mr. Apse shook both Mrs. Colchester's hands, he was so pleased tohear a good word said for their favourite. All these Apses, youngand old you know, were perfectly infatuated with that abominable, dangerous--"

"I beg your pardon, " I interrupted, for he seemed to be addressinghimself exclusively to me; "but who on earth are you talking about?"

"I am talking of the Apse family, " he answered, courteously. 

I nearly let out a damn at this. But just then the respected Miss Blankput her head in, and said that the cab was at the door, if Mr. Stonorwanted to catch the eleven three up. 

At once the senior pilot arose in his mighty bulk and began to struggleinto his coat, with awe-inspiring upheavals. The stranger and I hurriedimpulsively to his assistance, and directly we laid our hands on him hebecame perfectly quiescent. We had to raise our arms very high, andto make efforts. It was like caparisoning a docile elephant. With a"Thanks, gentlemen, " he dived under and squeezed himself through thedoor in a great hurry. 

We smiled at each other in a friendly way. 

"I wonder how he manages to hoist himself up a ship's side-ladder, "said the man in tweeds; and poor Jermyn, who was a mere North Seapilot, without official status or recognition of any sort, pilot only bycourtesy, groaned. 

"He makes eight hundred a year. "

"Are you a sailor?" I asked the stranger, who had gone back to hisposition on the rug. 

"I used to be till a couple of years ago, when I got married, " answeredthis communicative individual. "I even went to sea first in that veryship we were speaking of when you came in. "

"What ship?" I asked, puzzled. "I never heard you mention a ship. "

"I've just told you her name, my dear sir, " he replied. "The ApseFamily. Surely you've heard of the great firm of Apse & Sons, shipowners. They had a pretty big fleet. There was the Lucy Apse, andthe Harold Apse, and Anne, John, Malcolm, Clara, Juliet, and soon--no end of Apses. Every brother, sister, aunt, cousin, wife--andgrandmother, too, for all I know--of the firm had a ship named afterthem. Good, solid, old-fashioned craft they were, too, built to carryand to last. None of your new-fangled, labour-saving appliances inthem, but plenty of men and plenty of good salt beef and hard tack putaboard--and off you go to fight your way out and home again. "

The miserable Jermyn made a sound of approval, which sounded like agroan of pain. Those were the ships for him. He pointed out in dolefultones that you couldn't say to labour-saving appliances: "Jump livelynow, my hearties. " No labour-saving appliance would go aloft on a dirtynight with the sands under your lee. 

"No, " assented the stranger, with a wink at me. "The Apses didn'tbelieve in them either, apparently. They treated their people well--aspeople don't get treated nowadays, and they were awfully proud of theirships. Nothing ever happened to them. This last one, the Apse Family, was to be like the others, only she was to be still stronger, stillsafer, still more roomy and comfortable. I believe they meant herto last for ever. They had her built composite--iron, teak-wood, andgreenheart, and her scantling was something fabulous. If ever an orderwas given for a ship in a spirit of pride this one was. Everything ofthe best. The commodore captain of the employ was to command her, andthey planned the accommodation for him like a house on shore undera big, tall poop that went nearly to the mainmast. No wonder Mrs. Colchester wouldn't let the old man give her up. Why, it was the besthome she ever had in all her married days. She had a nerve, that woman. 

"The fuss that was made while that ship was building! Let's have this alittle stronger, and that a little heavier; and hadn't that other thingbetter be changed for something a little thicker. The builders enteredinto the spirit of the game, and there she was, growing into theclumsiest, heaviest ship of her size right before all their eyes, without anybody becoming aware of it somehow. She was to be 2, 000tons register, or a little over; no less on any account. But see whathappens. When they came to measure her she turned out 1, 999 tons anda fraction. General consternation! And they say old Mr. Apse was soannoyed when they told him that he took to his bed and died. The oldgentleman had retired from the firm twenty-five years before, andwas ninety-six years old if a day, so his death wasn't, perhaps, sosurprising. Still Mr. Lucian Apse was convinced that his father wouldhave lived to a hundred. So we may put him at the head of the list. Nextcomes the poor devil of a shipwright that brute caught and squashed asshe went off the ways. They called it the launch of a ship, but I'veheard people say that, from the wailing and yelling and scrambling outof the way, it was more like letting a devil loose upon the river. She snapped all her checks like pack-thread, and went for the tugs inattendance like a fury. Before anybody could see what she was up to shesent one of them to the bottom, and laid up another for three months'repairs. One of her cables parted, and then, suddenly--you couldn't tellwhy--she let herself be brought up with the other as quiet as a lamb. 

"That's how she was. You could never be sure what she would be up tonext. There are ships difficult to handle, but generally you can dependon them behaving rationally. With that ship, whatever you did with heryou never knew how it would end. She was a wicked beast. Or, perhaps, she was only just insane. "

He uttered this supposition in so earnest a tone that I could notrefrain from smiling. He left off biting his lower lip to apostrophizeme. 

"Eh! Why not? Why couldn't there be something in her build, in her linescorresponding to--What's madness? Only something just a tiny bit wrongin the make of your brain. Why shouldn't there be a mad ship--I mean madin a ship-like way, so that under no circumstances could you be sure shewould do what any other sensible ship would naturally do for you. Thereare ships that steer wildly, and ships that can't be quite trustedalways to stay; others want careful watching when running in a gale;and, again, there may be a ship that will make heavy weather of it inevery little blow. But then you expect her to be always so. You take itas part of her character, as a ship, just as you take account of aman's peculiarities of temper when you deal with him. But with her youcouldn't. She was unaccountable. If she wasn't mad, then she was themost evil-minded, underhand, savage brute that ever went afloat. I'veseen her run in a heavy gale beautifully for two days, and on the thirdbroach to twice in the same afternoon. The first time she flung thehelmsman clean over the wheel, but as she didn't quite manage to killhim she had another try about three hours afterwards. She swampedherself fore and aft, burst all the canvas we had set, scared all handsinto a panic, and even frightened Mrs. Colchester down there in thesebeautiful stern cabins that she was so proud of. When we mustered thecrew there was one man missing. Swept overboard, of course, withoutbeing either seen or heard, poor devil! and I only wonder more of usdidn't go. 

"Always something like that. Always. I heard an old mate tell CaptainColchester once that it had come to this with him, that he was afraid toopen his mouth to give any sort of order. She was as much of a terrorin harbour as at sea. You could never be certain what would hold her. Onthe slightest provocation she would start snapping ropes, cables, wirehawsers, like carrots. She was heavy, clumsy, unhandy--but that does notquite explain that power for mischief she had. You know, somehow, when Ithink of her I can't help remembering what we hear of incurable lunaticsbreaking loose now and then. "

He looked at me inquisitively. But, of course, I couldn't admit that aship could be mad. 

"In the ports where she was known, " he went on, ' "they dreaded the sightof her. She thought nothing of knocking away twenty feet or so of solidstone facing off a quay or wiping off the end of a wooden wharf. Shemust have lost miles of chain and hundreds of tons of anchors in hertime. When she fell aboard some poor unoffending ship it was thevery devil of a job to haul her off again. And she never got hurtherself--just a few scratches or so, perhaps. They had wanted to haveher strong. And so she was. Strong enough to ram Polar ice with. And asshe began so she went on. From the day she was launched she never leta year pass without murdering somebody. I think the owners got veryworried about it. But they were a stiff-necked generation all theseApses; they wouldn't admit there could be anything wrong with the ApseFamily. They wouldn't even change her name. 'Stuff and nonsense, ' asMrs. Colchester used to say. They ought at least to have shut her upfor life in some dry dock or other, away up the river, and never let hersmell salt water again. I assure you, my dear sir, that she invariablydid kill someone every voyage she made. It was perfectly well-known. Shegot a name for it, far and wide. "

I expressed my surprise that a ship with such a deadly reputation couldever get a crew. 

"Then, you don't know what sailors are, my dear sir. Let me just showyou by an instance. One day in dock at home, while loafing on theforecastle head, I noticed two respectable salts come along, one amiddle-aged, competent, steady man, evidently, the other a smart, youngish chap. They read the name on the bows and stopped to look ather. Says the elder man: 'Apse Family. That's the sanguinary female dog'(I'm putting it in that way) 'of a ship, Jack, that kills a man everyvoyage. I wouldn't sign in her--not for Joe, I wouldn't. ' And the othersays: 'If she were mine, I'd have her towed on the mud and set on fire, blame if I wouldn't. ' Then the first man chimes in: 'Much do they care!Men are cheap, God knows. ' The younger one spat in the water alongside. 'They won't have me--not for double wages. '

"They hung about for some time and then walked up the dock. Half anhour later I saw them both on our deck looking about for the mate, andapparently very anxious to be taken on. And they were. "

"How do you account for this?" I asked. 

"What would you say?" he retorted. "Recklessness! The vanity ofboasting in the evening to all their chums: 'We've just shipped inthat there Apse Family. Blow her. She ain't going to scare us. ' Sheersailorlike perversity! A sort of curiosity. Well--a little of all that, no doubt. I put the question to them in the course of the voyage. Theanswer of the elderly chap was:

"'A man can die but once. ' The younger assured me in a mocking tone thathe wanted to see 'how she would do it this time. ' But I tell you what;there was a sort of fascination about the brute. "

Jermyn, who seemed to have seen every ship in the world, broke insulkily:

"I saw her once out of this very window towing up the river; a greatblack ugly thing, going along like a big hearse. "

"Something sinister about her looks, wasn't there?" said the man intweeds, looking down at old Jermyn with a friendly eye. "I always hada sort of horror of her. She gave me a beastly shock when I was no morethan fourteen, the very first day--nay, hour--I joined her. Father cameup to see me off, and was to go down to Gravesend with us. I was hissecond boy to go to sea. My big brother was already an officer then. We. Got on board about eleven in the morning, and found the ship ready todrop out of the basin, stern first. She had not moved three times herown length when, at a little pluck the tug gave her to enter the dockgates, she made one of her rampaging starts, and put such a weight onthe check rope--a new six-inch hawser--that forward there they had nochance to ease it round in time, and it parted. I saw the broken end flyup high in the air, and the next moment that brute brought her quarteragainst the pier-head with a jar that staggered everybody about herdecks. She didn't hurt herself. Not she! But one of the boys themate had sent aloft on the mizzen to do something, came down on thepoop-deck--thump--right in front of me. He was not much older thanmyself. We had been grinning at each other only a few minutes before. Hemust have been handling himself carelessly, not expecting to get such ajerk. I heard his startled cry--Oh!--in a high treble as he felt himselfgoing, and looked up in time to see him go limp all over as he fell. Ough! Poor father was remarkably white about the gills when we shookhands in Gravesend. 'Are you all right?' he says, looking hard at me. 'Yes, father. ' 'Quite sure?' 'Yes, father. ' 'Well, then good-bye, myboy. ' He told me afterwards that for half a word he would have carriedme off home with him there and then. I am the baby of the family--youknow, " added the man in tweeds, stroking his moustache with an ingenuoussmile. 

I acknowledged this interesting communication by a sympathetic murmur. He waved his hand carelessly. 

"This might have utterly spoiled a chap's nerve for going aloft, youknow--utterly. He fell within two feet of me, cracking his head on amooring-bitt. Never moved. Stone dead. Nice looking little fellow, hewas. I had just been thinking we would be great chums. However, thatwasn't yet the worst that brute of a ship could do. I served in herthree years of my time, and then I got transferred to the Lucy Apse, fora year. The sailmaker we had in the Apse Family turned up there, too, and I remember him saying to me one evening, after we had been a week atsea: Isn't she a meek little ship?' No wonder we thought the Lucy Apsea dear, meek, little ship after getting clear of that big, rampagingsavage brute. It was like heaven. Her officers seemed to me therestfullest lot of men on earth. To me who had known no ship but theApse Family, the Lucy was like a sort of magic craft that did what youwanted her to do of her own accord. One evening we got caught abackpretty sharply from right ahead. In about ten minutes we had her fullagain, sheets aft, tacks down, decks cleared, and the officer of thewatch leaning against the weather rail peacefully. It seemed simplymarvellous to me. The other would have stuck for half-an-hour in irons, rolling her decks full of water, knocking the men about--spars cracking, braces snapping, yards taking charge, and a confounded scare going onaft because of her beastly rudder, which she had a way of flapping aboutfit to raise your hair on end. I couldn't get over my wonder for days. 

"Well, I finished my last year of apprenticeship in that jolly littleship--she wasn't so little either, but after that other heavy devil sheseemed but a plaything to handle. I finished my time and passed; andthen just as I was thinking of having three weeks of real good time onshore I got at breakfast a letter asking me the earliest day I couldbe ready to join the Apse Family as third mate. I gave my plate a shovethat shot it into the middle of the table; dad looked up over his paper;mother raised her hands in astonishment, and I went out bare-headed intoour bit of garden, where I walked round and round for an hour. 

"When I came in again mother was out of the dining-room, and dadhad shifted berth into his big armchair. The letter was lying on themantelpiece. 

"'It's very creditable to you to get the offer, and very kind of them tomake it, ' he said. 'And I see also that Charles has been appointed chiefmate of that ship for one voyage. '

"There was, over leaf, a P. S. To that effect in Mr. Apse's ownhandwriting, which I had overlooked. Charley was my big brother. 

"I don't like very much to have two of my boys together in one ship, 'father goes on, in his deliberate, solemn way. 'And I may tell you thatI would not mind writing Mr. Apse a letter to that effect. '

"Dear old dad! He was a wonderful father. What would you have done? Themere notion of going back (and as an officer, too), to be worried andbothered, and kept on the jump night and day by that brute, made me feelsick. But she wasn't a ship you could afford to fight shy of. Besides, the most genuine excuse could not be given without mortally offendingApse & Sons. The firm, and I believe the whole family down to the oldunmarried aunts in Lancashire, had grown desperately touchy about thataccursed ship's character. This was the case for answering 'Ready now'from your very death-bed if you wished to die in their good graces. Andthat's precisely what I did answer--by wire, to have it over and donewith at once. 

"The prospect of being shipmates with my big brother cheered me upconsiderably, though it made me a bit anxious, too. Ever since Iremember myself as a little chap he had been very good to me, and Ilooked upon him as the finest fellow in the world. And so he was. Nobetter officer ever walked the deck of a merchant ship. And that's afact. He was a fine, strong, upstanding, sun-tanned, young fellow, withhis brown hair curling a little, and an eye like a hawk. He was justsplendid. We hadn't seen each other for many years, and even this time, though he had been in England three weeks already, he hadn't showed upat home yet, but had spent his spare time in Surrey somewhere makingup to Maggie Colchester, old Captain Colchester's niece. Her father, agreat friend of dad's, was in the sugar-broking business, and Charleymade a sort of second home of their house. I wondered what my bigbrother would think of me. There was a sort of sternness about Charley'sface which never left it, not even when he was larking in his ratherwild fashion. 

"He received me with a great shout of laughter. He seemed to thinkmy joining as an officer the greatest joke in the world. There was adifference of ten years between us, and I suppose he remembered mebest in pinafores. I was a kid of four when he first went to sea. Itsurprised me to find how boisterous he could be. 

"'Now we shall see what you are made of, ' he cried. And he held me offby the shoulders, and punched my ribs, and hustled me into his berth. 'Sit down, Ned. I am glad of the chance of having you with me. I'll putthe finishing touch to you, my young officer, providing you're worth thetrouble. And, first of all, get it well into your head that we arenot going to let this brute kill anybody this voyage. We'll stop herracket. '

"I perceived he was in dead earnest about it. He talked grimly of theship, and how we must be careful and never allow this ugly beast tocatch us napping with any of her damned tricks. 

"He gave me a regular lecture on special seamanship for the use of theApse Family; then changing his tone, he began to talk at large, rattlingoff the wildest, funniest nonsense, till my sides ached with laughing. I could see very well he was a bit above himself with high spirits. Itcouldn't be because of my coming. Not to that extent. But, of course, I wouldn't have dreamt of asking what was the matter. I had a properrespect for my big brother, I can tell you. But it was all made plainenough a day or two afterwards, when I heard that Miss Maggie Colchesterwas coming for the voyage. Uncle was giving her a sea-trip for thebenefit of her health. 

"I don't know what could have been wrong with her health. She had abeautiful colour, and a deuce of a lot of fair hair. She didn't care arap for wind, or rain, or spray, or sun, or green seas, or anything. She was a blue-eyed, jolly girl of the very best sort, but the way shecheeked my big brother used to frighten me. I always expected it to endin an awful row. However, nothing decisive happened till after we hadbeen in Sydney for a week. One day, in the men's dinner hour, Charleysticks his head into my cabin. I was stretched out on my back on thesettee, smoking in peace. 

"'Come ashore with me, Ned, ' he says, in his curt way. 

"I jumped up, of course, and away after him down the gangway andup George Street. He strode along like a giant, and I at his elbow, panting. It was confoundedly hot. 'Where on earth are you rushing me to, Charley?' I made bold to ask. 

"'Here, ' he says. 

"'Here' was a jeweller's shop. I couldn't imagine what he could wantthere. It seemed a sort of mad freak. He thrusts under my nose threerings, which looked very tiny on his big, brown palm, growling out--

"'For Maggie! Which?'

"I got a kind of scare at this. I couldn't make a sound, but I pointedat the one that sparkled white and blue. He put it in his waistcoatpocket, paid for it with a lot of sovereigns, and bolted out. Whenwe got on board I was quite out of breath. 'Shake hands, old chap, ' Igasped out. He gave me a thump on the back. 'Give what orders you liketo the boatswain when the hands turn-to, ' says he; 'I am off duty thisafternoon. '

"Then he vanished from the deck for a while, but presently he came outof the cabin with Maggie, and these two went over the gangway publicly, before all hands, going for a walk together on that awful, blazing hotday, with clouds of dust flying about. They came back after a few hourslooking very staid, but didn't seem to have the slightest idea wherethey had been. Anyway, that's the answer they both made to Mrs. Colchester's question at tea-time. 

"And didn't she turn on Charley, with her voice like an old nightcabman's! 'Rubbish. Don't know where you've been! Stuff and nonsense. You've walked the girl off her legs. Don't do it again. '

"It's surprising how meek Charley could be with that old woman. Onlyon one occasion he whispered to me, 'I'm jolly glad she isn't Maggie'saunt, except by marriage. That's no sort of relationship. ' But I thinkhe let Maggie have too much of her own way. She was hopping all overthat ship in her yachting skirt and a red tam o' shanter like a brightbird on a dead black tree. The old salts used to grin to themselves whenthey saw her coming along, and offered to teach her knots or splices. Ibelieve she liked the men, for Charley's sake, I suppose. 

"As you may imagine, the fiendish propensities of that cursed ship werenever spoken of on board. Not in the cabin, at any rate. Only onceon the homeward passage Charley said, incautiously, something aboutbringing all her crew home this time. Captain Colchester began to lookuncomfortable at once, and that silly, hard-bitten old woman flew out atCharley as though he had said something indecent. I was quite confoundedmyself; as to Maggie, she sat completely mystified, opening her blueeyes very wide. Of course, before she was a day older she wormed it allout of me. She was a very difficult person to lie to. 

"'How awful, ' she said, quite solemn. 'So many poor fellows. I am gladthe voyage is nearly over. I won't have a moment's peace about Charleynow. '

"I assured her Charley was all right. It took more than that ship knewto get over a seaman like Charley. And she agreed with me. 

"Next day we got the tug off Dungeness; and when the tow-rope was fastCharley rubbed his hands and said to me in an undertone--

"'We've baffled her, Ned. '

"'Looks like it, ' I said, with a grin at him. It was beautiful weather, and the sea as smooth as a millpond. We went up the river without ashadow of trouble except once, when off Hole Haven, the brute took asudden sheer and nearly had a barge anchored just clear of the fairway. But I was aft, looking after the steering, and she did not catch menapping that time. Charley came up on the poop, looking very concerned. 'Close shave, ' says he. 

"'Never mind, Charley, ' I answered, cheerily. 'You've tamed her. '

"We were to tow right up to the dock. The river pilot boarded us belowGravesend, and the first words I heard him say were: 'You may just aswell take your port anchor inboard at once, Mr. Mate. '

"This had been done when I went forward. I saw Maggie on the forecastlehead enjoying the bustle and I begged her to go aft, but she took nonotice of me, of course. Then Charley, who was very busy with the headgear, caught sight of her and shouted in his biggest voice: 'Get offthe forecastle head, Maggie. You're in the way here. ' For all answershe made a funny face at him, and I saw poor Charley turn away, hidinga smile. She was flushed with the excitement of getting home again, andher blue eyes seemed to snap electric sparks as she looked at the river. A collier brig had gone round just ahead of us, and our tug had to stopher engines in a hurry to avoid running into her. 

"In a moment, as is usually the case, all the shipping in the reachseemed to get into a hopeless tangle. A schooner and a ketch got up asmall collision all to themselves right in the middle of the river. It was exciting to watch, and, meantime, our tug remained stopped. Anyother ship than that brute could have been coaxed to keep straight for acouple of minutes--but not she! Her head fell off at once, and she beganto drift down, taking her tug along with her. I noticed a cluster ofcoasters at anchor within a quarter of a mile of us, and I thought Ihad better speak to the pilot. 'If you let her get amongst that lot, 'I said, quietly, 'she will grind some of them to bits before we get herout again. '

"'Don't I know her!' cries he, stamping his foot in a perfect fury. Andhe out with his whistle to make that bothered tug get the ship's headup again as quick as possible. He blew like mad, waving his arm to port, and presently we could see that the tug's engines had been set goingahead. Her paddles churned the water, but it was as if she had beentrying to tow a rock--she couldn't get an inch out of that ship. Againthe pilot blew his whistle, and waved his arm to port. We could see thetug's paddles turning faster and faster away, broad on our bow. 

"For a moment tug and ship hung motionless in a crowd of movingshipping, and then the terrific strain that evil, stony-hearted brutewould always put on everything, tore the towing-chock clean out. Thetow-rope surged over, snapping the iron stanchions of the head-rail oneafter another as if they had been sticks of sealing-wax. It was onlythen I noticed that in order to have a better view over our heads, Maggie had stepped upon the port anchor as it lay flat on the forecastledeck. 

"It had been lowered properly into its hardwood beds, but there had beenno time to take a turn with it. Anyway, it was quite secure as it was, for going into dock; but I could see directly that the tow-rope wouldsweep under the fluke in another second. My heart flew up right intomy throat, but not before I had time to yell out: 'Jump clear of thatanchor!'

"But I hadn't time to shriek out her name. I don't suppose she heard meat all. The first touch of the hawser against the fluke threw her down;she was up on her feet again quick as lightning, but she was up on thewrong side. I heard a horrid, scraping sound, and then that anchor, tipping over, rose up like something alive; its great, rough iron armcaught Maggie round the waist, seemed to clasp her close with a dreadfulhug, and flung itself with her over and down in a terrific clang ofiron, followed by heavy ringing blows that shook the ship from stem tostern--because the ring stopper held!"

"How horrible!" I exclaimed. 

"I used to dream for years afterwards of anchors catching hold ofgirls, " said the man in tweeds, a little wildly. He shuddered. "With amost pitiful howl Charley was over after her almost on the instant. But, Lord! he didn't see as much as a gleam of her red tam o' shanter in thewater. Nothing! nothing whatever! In a moment there were half-a-dozenboats around us, and he got pulled into one. I, with the boatswain andthe carpenter, let go the other anchor in a hurry and brought theship up somehow. The pilot had gone silly. He walked up and down theforecastle head wringing his hands and muttering to himself: 'Killingwomen, now! Killing women, now!' Not another word could you get out ofhim. 

"Dusk fell, then a night black as pitch; and peering upon the river Iheard a low, mournful hail, 'Ship, ahoy!' Two Gravesend watermen camealongside. They had a lantern in their wherry, and looked up the ship'sside, holding on to the ladder without a word. I saw in the patch oflight a lot of loose, fair hair down there. "

He shuddered again. 

"After the tide turned poor Maggie's body had floated clear of one ofthem big mooring buoys, " he explained. "I crept aft, feeling half-dead, and managed to send a rocket up--to let the other searchers know, onthe river. And then I slunk away forward like a cur, and spent the nightsitting on the heel of the bowsprit so as to be as far as possible outof Charley's way. "

"Poor fellow!" I murmured. 

"Yes. Poor fellow, " he repeated, musingly. "That brute wouldn't lethim--not even him--cheat her of her prey. But he made her fast in docknext morning. He did. We hadn't exchanged a word--not a single look forthat matter. I didn't want to look at him. When the last rope was fasthe put his hands to his head and stood gazing down at his feet as iftrying to remember something. The men waited on the main deck forthe words that end the voyage. Perhaps that is what he was trying toremember. I spoke for him. 'That'll do, men. '

"I never saw a crew leave a ship so quietly. They sneaked over the railone after another, taking care not to bang their sea chests too heavily. They looked our way, but not one had the stomach to come up and offer toshake hands with the mate as is usual. 

"I followed him all over the empty ship to and fro, here and there, withno living soul about but the two of us, because the old ship-keeperhad locked himself up in the galley--both doors. Suddenly poor Charleymutters, in a crazy voice: 'I'm done here, ' and strides down the gangwaywith me at his heels, up the dock, out at the gate, on towards TowerHill. He used to take rooms with a decent old landlady in AmericaSquare, to be near his work. 

"All at once he stops short, turns round, and comes back straight atme. 'Ned, ' says he, I am going home. ' I had the good luck to sight afour-wheeler and got him in just in time. His legs were beginning togive way. In our hall he fell down on a chair, and I'll never forgetfather's and mother's amazed, perfectly still faces as they stood overhim. They couldn't understand what had happened to him till I blubberedout, 'Maggie got drowned, yesterday, in the river. '

"Mother let out a little cry. Father looks from him to me, and from meto him, as if comparing our faces--for, upon my soul, Charley did notresemble himself at all. Nobody moved; and the poor fellow raises hisbig brown hands slowly to his throat, and with one single tug ripseverything open--collar, shirt, waistcoat--a perfect wreck and ruin ofa man. Father and I got him upstairs somehow, and mother pretty nearlykilled herself nursing him through a brain fever. "

The man in tweeds nodded at me significantly. 

"Ah! there was nothing that could be done with that brute. She had adevil in her. "

"Where's your brother?" I asked, expecting to hear he was dead. But hewas commanding a smart steamer on the China coast, and never came homenow. 

Jermyn fetched a heavy sigh, and the handkerchief being now sufficientlydry, put it up tenderly to his red and lamentable nose. 

"She was a ravening beast, " the man in tweeds started again. "OldColchester put his foot down and resigned. And would you believe it?Apse & Sons wrote to ask whether he wouldn't reconsider his decision!Anything to save the good name of the Apse Family. ' Old Colchester wentto the office then and said that he would take charge again but only tosail her out into the North Sea and scuttle her there. He was nearly offhis chump. He used to be darkish iron-grey, but his hair went snow-whitein a fortnight. And Mr. Lucian Apse (they had known each other as youngmen) pretended not to notice it. Eh? Here's infatuation if you like!Here's pride for you!

"They jumped at the first man they could get to take her, for fear ofthe scandal of the Apse Family not being able to find a skipper. He wasa festive soul, I believe, but he stuck to her grim and hard. Wilmot washis second mate. A harum-scarum fellow, and pretending to a great scornfor all the girls. The fact is he was really timid. But let only one ofthem do as much as lift her little finger in encouragement, and therewas nothing that could hold the beggar. As apprentice, once, he desertedabroad after a petticoat, and would have gone to the dogs then, if hisskipper hadn't taken the trouble to find him and lug him by the ears outof some house of perdition or other. 

"It was said that one of the firm had been heard once to express a hopethat this brute of a ship would get lost soon. I can hardly credit thetale, unless it might have been Mr. Alfred Apse, whom the family didn'tthink much of. They had him in the office, but he was considered abad egg altogether, always flying off to race meetings and coming homedrunk. You would have thought that a ship so full of deadly tricks wouldrun herself ashore some day out of sheer cussedness. But not she! Shewas going to last for ever. She had a nose to keep off the bottom. "

Jermyn made a grunt of approval. 

"A ship after a pilot's own heart, eh?" jeered the man in tweeds. "Well, Wilmot managed it. He was the man for it, but even he, perhaps, couldn'thave done the trick without the green-eyed governess, or nurse, orwhatever she was to the children of Mr. And Mrs. Pamphilius. 

"Those people were passengers in her from Port Adelaide to theCape. Well, the ship went out and anchored outside for the day. Theskipper--hospitable soul--had a lot of guests from town to a farewelllunch--as usual with him. It was five in the evening before the lastshore boat left the side, and the weather looked ugly and dark in thegulf. There was no reason for him to get under way. However, as he hadtold everybody he was going that day, he imagined it was proper to do soanyhow. But as he had no mind after all these festivities to tackle thestraits in the dark, with a scant wind, he gave orders to keep the shipunder lower topsails and foresail as close as she would lie, dodgingalong the land till the morning. Then he sought his virtuous couch. The mate was on deck, having his face washed very clean with hard rainsqualls. Wilmot relieved him at midnight. 

"The Apse Family had, as you observed, a house on her poop . . . "

"A big, ugly white thing, sticking up, " Jermyn murmured, sadly, at thefire. 

"That's it: a companion for the cabin stairs and a sort of chart-roomcombined. The rain drove in gusts on the sleepy Wilmot. The ship wasthen surging slowly to the southward, close hauled, with the coastwithin three miles or so to windward. There was nothing to look out forin that part of the gulf, and Wilmot went round to dodge the squallsunder the lee of that chart-room, whose door on that side was open. Thenight was black, like a barrel of coal-tar. And then he heard a woman'svoice whispering to him. 

"That confounded green-eyed girl of the Pamphilius people had put thekids to bed a long time ago, of course, but it seems couldn't get tosleep herself. She heard eight bells struck, and the chief mate comebelow to turn in. She waited a bit, then got into her dressing-gown andstole across the empty saloon and up the stairs into the chart-room. Shesat down on the settee near the open door to cool herself, I daresay. 

"I suppose when she whispered to Wilmot it was as if somebody had strucka match in the fellow's brain. I don't know how it was they had got sovery thick. I fancy he had met her ashore a few times before. I couldn'tmake it out, because, when telling the story, Wilmot would break off toswear something awful at every second word. We had met on the quay inSydney, and he had an apron of sacking up to his chin, a big whip in hishand. A wagon-driver. Glad to do anything not to starve. That's what hehad come down to. 

"However, there he was, with his head inside the door, on the girl'sshoulder as likely as not--officer of the watch! The helmsman, on givinghis evidence afterwards, said that he shouted several times that thebinnacle lamp had gone out. It didn't matter to him, because his orderswere to 'sail her close. ' 'I thought it funny, ' he said, 'that the shipshould keep on falling off in squalls, but I luffed her up every timeas close as I was able. It was so dark I couldn't see my hand before myface, and the rain came in bucketfuls on my head. '

"The truth was that at every squall the wind hauled aft a little, tillgradually the ship came to be heading straight for the coast, without asingle soul in her being aware of it. Wilmot himself confessed that hehad not been near the standard compass for an hour. He might well haveconfessed! The first thing he knew was the man on the look-out shoutingblue murder forward there. 

"He tore his neck free, he says, and yelled back at him: 'What do yousay?'

"'I think I hear breakers ahead, sir, ' howled the man, and came rushingaft with the rest of the watch, in the 'awfullest blinding deluge thatever fell from the sky, ' Wilmot says. For a second or so he was soscared and bewildered that he could not remember on which side of thegulf the ship was. He wasn't a good officer, but he was a seaman allthe same. He pulled himself together in a second, and the right orderssprang to his lips without thinking. They were to hard up with the helmand shiver the main and mizzen-topsails. 

"It seems that the sails actually fluttered. He couldn't see them, buthe heard them rattling and banging above his head. 'No use! She was tooslow in going off, ' he went on, his dirty face twitching, and the damn'dcarter's whip shaking in his hand. 'She seemed to stick fast. ' And thenthe flutter of the canvas above his head ceased. At this critical momentthe wind hauled aft again with a gust, filling the sails and sending theship with a great way upon the rocks on her lee bow. She had overreachedherself in her last little game. Her time had come--the hour, the man, the black night, the treacherous gust of wind--the right woman to putan end to her. The brute deserved nothing better. Strange are theinstruments of Providence. There's a sort of poetical justice--"

The man in tweeds looked hard at me. 

"The first ledge she went over stripped the false keel off her. Rip! Theskipper, rushing out of his berth, found a crazy woman, in a red flanneldressing-gown, flying round and round the cuddy, screeching like acockatoo. 

"The next bump knocked her clean under the cabin table. It also startedthe stern-post and carried away the rudder, and then that brute ran up ashelving, rocky shore, tearing her bottom out, till she stopped short, and the foremast dropped over the bows like a gangway. "

"Anybody lost?" I asked. 

"No one, unless that fellow, Wilmot, " answered the gentleman, unknownto Miss Blank, looking round for his cap. "And his case was worse thandrowning for a man. Everybody got ashore all right. Gale didn't comeon till next day, dead from the West, and broke up that brute in asurprisingly short time. It was as though she had been rotten at heart. ". . . He changed his tone, "Rain left off? I must get my bike and rushhome to dinner. I live in Herne Bay--came out for a spin this morning. "

He nodded at me in a friendly way, and went out with a swagger. 

"Do you know who he is, Jermyn?" I asked. 

The North Sea pilot shook his head, dismally. "Fancy losing a ship inthat silly fashion! Oh, dear! oh dear!" he groaned in lugubrious tones, spreading his damp handkerchief again like a curtain before the glowinggrate. 

On going out I exchanged a glance and a smile (strictly proper) with therespectable Miss Blank, barmaid of the Three Crows. 

A DESPERATE TALE

AN ANARCHIST

That year I spent the best two months of the dry season on one ofthe estates--in fact, on the principal cattle estate--of a famousmeat-extract manufacturing company. 

B. O. S. Bos. You have seen the three magic letters on the advertisementpages of magazines and newspapers, in the windows of provisionmerchants, and on calendars for next year you receive by post in themonth of November. They scatter pamphlets also, written in a sicklyenthusiastic style and in several languages, giving statistics ofslaughter and bloodshed enough to make a Turk turn faint. The "art"illustrating that "literature" represents in vivid and shining coloursa large and enraged black bull stamping upon a yellow snake writhingin emerald-green grass, with a cobalt-blue sky for a background. Itis atrocious and it is an allegory. The snake symbolizes disease, weakness--perhaps mere hunger, which last is the chronic disease of themajority of mankind. Of course everybody knows the B. O. S. Ltd. , withits unrivalled products: Vinobos, Jellybos, and the latest unequalledperfection, Tribos, whose nourishment is offered to you not only highlyconcentrated, but already half digested. Such apparently is the lovethat Limited Company bears to its fellowmen--even as the love of thefather and mother penguin for their hungry fledglings. 

Of course the capital of a country must be productively employed. Ihave nothing to say against the company. But being myself animated byfeelings of affection towards my fellow-men, I am saddened by themodern system of advertising. Whatever evidence it offers of enterprise, ingenuity, impudence, and resource in certain individuals, it proves tomy mind the wide prevalence of that form of mental degradation which iscalled gullibility. 

In various parts of the civilized and uncivilized world I have had toswallow B. O. S. With more or less benefit to myself, though withoutgreat pleasure. Prepared with hot water and abundantly peppered to bringout the taste, this extract is not really unpalatable. But I have neverswallowed its advertisements. Perhaps they have not gone far enough. Asfar as I can remember they make no promise of everlasting youth to theusers of B. O. S. , nor yet have they claimed the power of raising thedead for their estimable products. Why this austere reserve, I wonder?But I don't think they would have had me even on these terms. Whateverform of mental degradation I may (being but human) be suffering from, itis not the popular form. I am not gullible. 

I have been at some pains to bring out distinctly this statement aboutmyself in view of the story which follows. I have checked the facts asfar as possible. I have turned up the files of French newspapers, and Ihave also talked with the officer who commands the military guard onthe Ile Royale, when in the course of my travels I reached Cayenne. Ibelieve the story to be in the main true. It is the sort of story thatno man, I think, would ever invent about himself, for it is neithergrandiose nor flattering, nor yet funny enough to gratify a pervertedvanity. 

It concerns the engineer of the steam-launch belonging to the Maranoncattle estate of the B. O. S. Co. , Ltd. This estate is also anisland--an island as big as a small province, lying in the estuary of agreat South American river. It is wild and not beautiful, but the grassgrowing on its low plains seems to possess exceptionally nourishingand flavouring qualities. It resounds with the lowing of innumerableherds--a deep and distressing sound under the open sky, rising likea monstrous protest of prisoners condemned to death. On the mainland, across twenty miles of discoloured muddy water, there stands a citywhose name, let us say, is Horta. 

But the most interesting characteristic of this island (which seems likea sort of penal settlement for condemned cattle) consists in its beingthe only known habitat of an extremely rare and gorgeous butterfly. The species is even more rare than it is beautiful, which is not sayinglittle. I have already alluded to my travels. I travelled at that time, but strictly for myself and with a moderation unknown in our days ofround-the-world tickets. I even travelled with a purpose. As a matter offact, I am--"Ha, ha, ha!--a desperate butterfly-slayer. Ha, ha, ha!"

This was the tone in which Mr. Harry Gee, the manager of the cattlestation, alluded to my pursuits. He seemed to consider me the greatestabsurdity in the world. On the other hand, the B. O. S. Co. , Ltd. , represented to him the acme of the nineteenth century's achievement. Ibelieve that he slept in his leggings and spurs. His days he spent inthe saddle flying over the plains, followed by a train of half-wildhorsemen, who called him Don Enrique, and who had no definite idea ofthe B. O. S. Co. , Ltd. , which paid their wages. He was an excellentmanager, but I don't see why, when we met at meals, he should havethumped me on the back, with loud, derisive inquiries: "How's the deadlysport to-day? Butterflies going strong? Ha, ha, ha!"--especially as hecharged me two dollars per diem for the hospitality of the B. O. S. Co. , Ltd. , (capital L1, 500, 000, fully paid up), in whose balance-sheet forthat year those monies are no doubt included. "I don't think I canmake it anything less in justice to my company, " he had remarked, withextreme gravity, when I was arranging with him the terms of my stay onthe island. 

His chaff would have been harmless enough if intimacy of intercoursein the absence of all friendly feeling were not a thing detestable initself. Moreover, his facetiousness was not very amusing. It consistedin the wearisome repetition of descriptive phrases applied to peoplewith a burst of laughter. "Desperate butterfly-slayer. Ha, ha, ha!" wasone sample of his peculiar wit which he himself enjoyed so much. And inthe same vein of exquisite humour he called my attention to the engineerof the steam-launch, one day, as we strolled on the path by the side ofthe creek. 

The man's head and shoulders emerged above the deck, over which werescattered various tools of his trade and a few pieces of machinery. Hewas doing some repairs to the engines. At the sound of our footstepshe raised anxiously a grimy face with a pointed chin and a tiny fairmoustache. What could be seen of his delicate features under the blacksmudges appeared to me wasted and livid in the greenish shade of theenormous tree spreading its foliage over the launch moored close to thebank. 

To my great surprise, Harry Gee addressed him as "Crocodile, " inthat half-jeering, half-bullying tone which is characteristic ofself-satisfaction in his delectable kind:

"How does the work get on, Crocodile?"

I should have said before that the amiable Harry had picked up Frenchof a sort somewhere--in some colony or other--and that he pronouncedit with a disagreeable forced precision as though he meant to guy thelanguage. The man in the launch answered him quickly in a pleasantvoice. His eyes had a liquid softness and his teeth flashed dazzlinglywhite between his thin, drooping lips. The manager turned to me, verycheerful and loud, explaining:

"I call him Crocodile because he lives half in, half out of the creek. Amphibious--see? There's nothing else amphibious living on the islandexcept crocodiles; so he must belong to the species--eh? But in realityhe's nothing less than un citoyen anarchiste de Barcelone. "

"A citizen anarchist from Barcelona?" I repeated, stupidly, looking downat the man. He had turned to his work in the engine-well of the launchand presented his bowed back to us. In that attitude I heard himprotest, very audibly:

"I do not even know Spanish. "

"Hey? What? You dare to deny you come from over there?" the accomplishedmanager was down on him truculently. 

At this the man straightened himself up, dropping a spanner he had beenusing, and faced us; but he trembled in all his limbs. 

"I deny nothing, nothing, nothing!" he said, excitedly. 

He picked up the spanner and went to work again without paying anyfurther attention to us. After looking at him for a minute or so, wewent away. 

"Is he really an anarchist?" I asked, when out of ear-shot. 

"I don't care a hang what he is, " answered the humorous official of theB. O. S. Co. "I gave him the name because it suited me to label him inthat way, It's good for the company. "

"For the company!" I exclaimed, stopping short. 

"Aha!" he triumphed, tilting up his hairless pug face and straddling histhin, long legs. "That surprises you. I am bound to do my best for mycompany. They have enormous expenses. Why--our agent in Horta tells methey spend fifty thousand pounds every year in advertising all over theworld! One can't be too economical in working the show. Well, just youlisten. When I took charge here the estate had no steam-launch. I askedfor one, and kept on asking by every mail till I got it; but the manthey sent out with it chucked his job at the end of two months, leavingthe launch moored at the pontoon in Horta. Got a better screw at asawmill up the river--blast him! And ever since it has been the samething. Any Scotch or Yankee vagabond that likes to call himself amechanic out here gets eighteen pounds a month, and the next you knowhe's cleared out, after smashing something as likely as not. I give youmy word that some of the objects I've had for engine-drivers couldn'ttell the boiler from the funnel. But this fellow understands his trade, and I don't mean him to clear out. See?"

And he struck me lightly on the chest for emphasis. Disregarding hispeculiarities of manner, I wanted to know what all this had to do withthe man being an anarchist. 

"Come!" jeered the manager. "If you saw suddenly a barefooted, unkemptchap slinking amongst the bushes on the sea face of the island, and atthe same time observed less than a mile from the beach, a small schoonerfull of niggers hauling off in a hurry, you wouldn't think the man fellthere from the sky, would you? And it could be nothing else but eitherthat or Cayenne. I've got my wits about me. Directly I sighted thisqueer game I said to myself--'Escaped Convict. ' I was as certain ofit as I am of seeing you standing here this minute. So I spurred onstraight at him. He stood his ground for a bit on a sand hillock cryingout: 'Monsieur! Monsieur! Arretez!' then at the last moment broke andran for life. Says I to myself, 'I'll tame you before I'm done withyou. ' So without a single word I kept on, heading him off here andthere. I rounded him up towards the shore, and at last I had himcorralled on a spit, his heels in the water and nothing but sea and skyat his back, with my horse pawing the sand and shaking his head within ayard of him. 

"He folded his arms on his breast then and stuck his chin up in asort of desperate way; but I wasn't to be impressed by the beggar'sposturing. 

"Says I, 'You're a runaway convict. '

"When he heard French, his chin went down and his face changed. 

"'I deny nothing, ' says he, panting yet, for I had kept him skippingabout in front of my horse pretty smartly. I asked him what he was doingthere. He had got his breath by then, and explained that he had meant tomake his way to a farm which he understood (from the schooner's people, I suppose) was to be found in the neighbourhood. At that I laughedaloud and he got uneasy. Had he been deceived? Was there no farm withinwalking distance?

"I laughed more and more. He was on foot, and of course the first bunchof cattle he came across would have stamped him to rags under theirhoofs. A dismounted man caught on the feeding-grounds hasn't got theghost of a chance. 

"'My coming upon you like this has certainly saved your life, ' Isaid. He remarked that perhaps it was so; but that for his part he hadimagined I had wanted to kill him under the hoofs of my horse. I assuredhim that nothing would have been easier had I meant it. And then we cameto a sort of dead stop. For the life of me I didn't know what to do withthis convict, unless I chucked him into the sea. It occurred to me toask him what he had been transported for. He hung his head. 

"'What is it?' says I. 'Theft, murder, rape, or what?' I wanted to hearwhat he would have to say for himself, though of course I expected itwould be some sort of lie. But all he said was--

"'Make it what you like. I deny nothing. It is no good denyinganything. '

"I looked him over carefully and a thought struck me. 

"'They've got anarchists there, too, ' I said. 'Perhaps you're one ofthem. '

"'I deny nothing whatever, monsieur, ' he repeats. 

"This answer made me think that perhaps he was not an anarchist. Ibelieve those damned lunatics are rather proud of themselves. If he hadbeen one, he would have probably confessed straight out. 

"'What were you before you became a convict?'

"'Ouvrier, ' he says. 'And a good workman, too. '

"At that I began to think he must be an anarchist, after all. That's theclass they come mostly from, isn't it? I hate the cowardly bomb-throwingbrutes. I almost made up my mind to turn my horse short round and leavehim to starve or drown where he was, whichever he liked best. As tocrossing the island to bother me again, the cattle would see to that. Idon't know what induced me to ask--

"'What sort of workman?'

"I didn't care a hang whether he answered me or not. But when he saidat once, 'Mecanicien, monsieur, ' I nearly jumped out of the saddle withexcitement. The launch had been lying disabled and idle in the creek forthree weeks. My duty to the company was clear. He noticed my start, too, and there we were for a minute or so staring at each other as ifbewitched. 

"'Get up on my horse behind me, ' I told him. 'You shall put mysteam-launch to rights. '"

These are the words in which the worthy manager of the Maranon estaterelated to me the coming of the supposed anarchist. He meant to keephim--out of a sense of duty to the company--and the name he had givenhim would prevent the fellow from obtaining employment anywhere inHorta. The vaqueros of the estate, when they went on leave, spread itall over the town. They did not know what an anarchist was, nor yet whatBarcelona meant. They called him Anarchisto de Barcelona, as if it werehis Christian name and surname. But the people in town had been readingin their papers about the anarchists in Europe and were very muchimpressed. Over the jocular addition of "de Barcelona" Mr. HarryGee chuckled with immense satisfaction. "That breed is particularlymurderous, isn't it? It makes the sawmills crowd still more afraid ofhaving anything to do with him--see?" he exulted, candidly. "I hold himby that name better than if I had him chained up by the leg to the deckof the steam-launch. 

"And mark, " he added, after a pause, "he does not deny it. I am notwronging him in any way. He is a convict of some sort, anyhow. "

"But I suppose you pay him some wages, don't you?" I asked. 

"Wages! What does he want with money here? He gets his food frommy kitchen and his clothing from the store. Of course I'll give himsomething at the end of the year, but you don't think I'd employ aconvict and give him the same money I would give an honest man? I amlooking after the interests of my company first and last. "

I admitted that, for a company spending fifty thousand pounds everyyear in advertising, the strictest economy was obviously necessary. Themanager of the Maranon Estancia grunted approvingly. 

"And I'll tell you what, " he continued: "if I were certain he's ananarchist and he had the cheek to ask me for money, I would give himthe toe of my boot. However, let him have the benefit of the doubt. Iam perfectly willing to take it that he has done nothing worse thanto stick a knife into somebody--with extenuating circumstances--Frenchfashion, don't you know. But that subversive sanguinary rot of doingaway with all law and order in the world makes my blood boil. It'ssimply cutting the ground from under the feet of every decent, respectable, hard-working person. I tell you that the consciences ofpeople who have them, like you or I, must be protected in some way; orelse the first low scoundrel that came along would in every respect bejust as good as myself. Wouldn't he, now? And that's absurd!"

He glared at me. I nodded slightly and murmured that doubtless there wasmuch subtle truth in his view. 

The principal truth discoverable in the views of Paul the engineer wasthat a little thing may bring about the undoing of a man. 

"_Il ne faut pas beaucoup pour perdre un homme_, " he said to me, thoughtfully, one evening. 

I report this reflection in French, since the man was of Paris, not ofBarcelona at all. At the Maranon he lived apart from the station, ina small shed with a metal roof and straw walls, which he calledmon atelier. He had a work-bench there. They had given him severalhorse-blankets and a saddle--not that he ever had occasion to ride, butbecause no other bedding was used by the working-hands, who were allvaqueros--cattlemen. And on this horseman's gear, like a son of theplains, he used to sleep amongst the tools of his trade, in a litterof rusty scrap-iron, with a portable forge at his head, under thework-bench sustaining his grimy mosquito-net. 

Now and then I would bring him a few candle ends saved from the scantsupply of the manager's house. He was very thankful for these. He didnot like to lie awake in the dark, he confessed. He complained thatsleep fled from him. "Le sommeil me fuit, " he declared, with hishabitual air of subdued stoicism, which made him sympathetic andtouching. I made it clear to him that I did not attach undue importanceto the fact of his having been a convict. 

Thus it came about that one evening he was led to talk about himself. As one of the bits of candle on the edge of the bench burned down to theend, he hastened to light another. 

He had done his military service in a provincial garrison and returnedto Paris to follow his trade. It was a well-paid one. He told me withsome pride that in a short time he was earning no less than ten francs aday. He was thinking of setting up for himself by and by and of gettingmarried. 

Here he sighed deeply and paused. Then with a return to his stoicalnote:

"It seems I did not know enough about myself. "

On his twenty-fifth birthday two of his friends in the repairing shopwhere he worked proposed to stand him a dinner. He was immensely touchedby this attention. 

"I was a steady man, " he remarked, "but I am not less sociable than anyother body. "

The entertainment came off in a little cafe on the Boulevard de laChapelle. At dinner they drank some special wine. It was excellent. Everything was excellent; and the world--in his own words--seemed a verygood place to live in. He had good prospects, some little money laid by, and the affection of two excellent friends. He offered to pay for allthe drinks after dinner, which was only proper on his part. 

They drank more wine; they drank liqueurs, cognac, beer, then moreliqueurs and more cognac. Two strangers sitting at the next table lookedat him, he said, with so much friendliness, that he invited them to jointhe party. 

He had never drunk so much in his life. His elation was extreme, and sopleasurable that whenever it flagged he hastened to order more drinks. 

"It seemed to me, " he said, in his quiet tone and looking on the groundin the gloomy shed full of shadows, "that I was on the point of justattaining a great and wonderful felicity. Another drink, I felt, woulddo it. The others were holding out well with me, glass for glass. "

But an extraordinary thing happened. At something the strangers said hiselation fell. Gloomy ideas--des idees noires--rushed into his head. Allthe world outside the cafe; appeared to him as a dismal evil place wherea multitude of poor wretches had to work and slave to the sole endthat a few individuals should ride in carriages and live riotously inpalaces. He became ashamed of his happiness. The pity of mankind's cruellot wrung his heart. In a voice choked with sorrow he tried to expressthese sentiments. He thinks he wept and swore in turns. 

The two new acquaintances hastened to applaud his humane indignation. Yes. The amount of injustice in the world was indeed scandalous. Therewas only one way of dealing with the rotten state of society. Demolishthe whole sacree boutique. Blow up the whole iniquitous show. 

Their heads hovered over the table. They whispered to him eloquently; Idon't think they quite expected the result. He was extremely drunk--maddrunk. With a howl of rage he leaped suddenly upon the table. Kickingover the bottles and glasses, he yelled: "Vive l'anarchie! Death to thecapitalists!" He yelled this again and again. All round him broken glasswas falling, chairs were being swung in the air, people were taking eachother by the throat. The police dashed in. He hit, bit, scratched andstruggled, till something crashed down upon his head. . . . 

He came to himself in a police cell, locked up on a charge of assault, seditious cries, and anarchist propaganda. 

He looked at me fixedly with his liquid, shining eyes, that seemed verybig in the dim light. 

"That was bad. But even then I might have got off somehow, perhaps, " hesaid, slowly. 

I doubt it. But whatever chance he had was done away with by a youngsocialist lawyer who volunteered to undertake his defence. In vain heassured him that he was no anarchist; that he was a quiet, respectablemechanic, only too anxious to work ten hours per day at his trade. Hewas represented at the trial as the victim of society and his drunkenshoutings as the expression of infinite suffering. The young lawyer hadhis way to make, and this case was just what he wanted for a start. Thespeech for the defence was pronounced magnificent. 

The poor fellow paused, swallowed, and brought out the statement:

"I got the maximum penalty applicable to a first offence. "

I made an appropriate murmur. He hung his head and folded his arms. 

"When they let me out of prison, " he began, gently, "I made tracks, ofcourse, for my old workshop. My patron had a particular liking for mebefore; but when he saw me he turned green with fright and showed me thedoor with a shaking hand. "

While he stood in the street, uneasy and disconcerted, he was accostedby a middle-aged man who introduced himself as an engineer's fitter, too. "I know who you are, " he said. "I have attended your trial. You area good comrade and your ideas are sound. But the devil of it is that youwon't be able to get work anywhere now. These bourgeois'll conspire tostarve you. That's their way. Expect no mercy from the rich. "

To be spoken to so kindly in the street had comforted him very much. Hisseemed to be the sort of nature needing support and sympathy. The ideaof not being able to find work had knocked him over completely. If hispatron, who knew him so well for a quiet, orderly, competent workman, would have nothing to do with him now--then surely nobody else would. That was clear. The police, keeping their eye on him, would hasten towarn every employer inclined to give him a chance. He felt suddenly veryhelpless, alarmed and idle; and he followed the middle-aged man to theestaminet round the corner where he met some other good companions. Theyassured him that he would not be allowed to starve, work or no work. They had drinks all round to the discomfiture of all employers of labourand to the destruction of society. 

He sat biting his lower lip. 

"That is, monsieur, how I became a compagnon, " he said. The hand hepassed over his forehead was trembling. "All the same, there's somethingwrong in a world where a man can get lost for a glass more or less. "

He never looked up, though I could see he was getting excited under hisdejection. He slapped the bench with his open palm. 

"No!" he cried. "It was an impossible existence! Watched by the police, watched by the comrades, I did not belong to myself any more! Why, Icould not even go to draw a few francs from my savings-bank without acomrade hanging about the door to see that I didn't bolt! And most ofthem were neither more nor less than housebreakers. The intelligent, Imean. They robbed the rich; they were only getting back their own, theysaid. When I had had some drink I believed them. There were also thefools and the mad. Des exaltes--quoi! When I was drunk I loved them. When I got more drink I was angry with the world. That was the besttime. I found refuge from misery in rage. But one can't be alwaysdrunk--n'est-ce pas, monsieur? And when I was sober I was afraid tobreak away. They would have stuck me like a pig. "

He folded his arms again and raised his sharp chin with a bitter smile. 

"By and by they told me it was time to go to work. The work was to roba bank. Afterwards a bomb would be thrown to wreck the place. Mybeginner's part would be to keep watch in a street at the back and totake care of a black bag with the bomb inside till it was wanted. Afterthe meeting at which the affair was arranged a trusty comrade did notleave me an inch. I had not dared to protest; I was afraid of beingdone away with quietly in that room; only, as we were walking together Iwondered whether it would not be better for me to throw myself suddenlyinto the Seine. But while I was turning it over in my mind we hadcrossed the bridge, and afterwards I had not the opportunity. "

In the light of the candle end, with his sharp features, fluffy littlemoustache, and oval face, he looked at times delicately and gaily young, and then appeared quite old, decrepit, full of sorrow, pressing hisfolded arms to his breast. 

As he remained silent I felt bound to ask:

"Well! And how did it end?"

"Deportation to Cayenne, " he answered. 

He seemed to think that somebody had given the plot away. As he waskeeping watch in the back street, bag in hand, he was set upon by thepolice. "These imbeciles, " had knocked him down without noticing what hehad in his hand. He wondered how the bomb failed to explode as he fell. But it didn't explode. 

"I tried to tell my story in court, " he continued. "The president wasamused. There were in the audience some idiots who laughed. "

I expressed the hope that some of his companions had been caught, too. He shuddered slightly before he told me that there were two--Simon, called also Biscuit, the middle-aged fitter who spoke to him in thestreet, and a fellow of the name of Mafile, one of the sympatheticstrangers who had applauded his sentiments and consoled his humanitariansorrows when he got drunk in the cafe. 

"Yes, " he went on, with an effort, "I had the advantage of their companyover there on St. Joseph's Island, amongst some eighty or ninety otherconvicts. We were all classed as dangerous. "

St. Joseph's Island is the prettiest of the Iles de Salut. It isrocky and green, with shallow ravines, bushes, thickets, groves ofmango-trees, and many feathery palms. Six warders armed with revolversand carbines are in charge of the convicts kept there. 

An eight-oared galley keeps up the communication in the daytime, acrossa channel a quarter of a mile wide, with the Ile Royale, where there isa military post. She makes the first trip at six in the morning. At fourin the afternoon her service is over, and she is then hauled up intoa little dock on the Ile Royale and a sentry put over her and a fewsmaller boats. From that time till next morning the island of St. Josephremains cut off from the rest of the world, with the warders patrollingin turn the path from the warders' house to the convict huts, and amultitude of sharks patrolling the waters all round. 

Under these circumstances the convicts planned a mutiny. Such a thinghad never been known in the penitentiary's history before. But theirplan was not without some possibility of success. The warders were to betaken by surprise and murdered during the night. Their arms wouldenable the convicts to shoot down the people in the galley as she camealongside in the morning. The galley once in their possession, otherboats were to be captured, and the whole company was to row away up thecoast. 

At dusk the two warders on duty mustered the convicts as usual. Thenthey proceeded to inspect the huts to ascertain that everything wasin order. In the second they entered they were set upon and absolutelysmothered under the numbers of their assailants. The twilight fadedrapidly. It was a new moon; and a heavy black squall gathering overthe coast increased the profound darkness of the night. The convictsassembled in the open space, deliberating upon the next step to betaken, argued amongst themselves in low voices. 

"You took part in all this?" I asked. 

"No. I knew what was going to be done, of course. But why should Ikill these warders? I had nothing against them. But I was afraid of theothers. Whatever happened, I could not escape from them. I sat aloneon the stump of a tree with my head in my hands, sick at heart at thethought of a freedom that could be nothing but a mockery to me. SuddenlyI was startled to perceive the shape of a man on the path near by. Hestood perfectly still, then his form became effaced in the night. Itmust have been the chief warder coming to see what had become of histwo men. No one noticed him. The convicts kept on quarrelling overtheir plans. The leaders could not get themselves obeyed. The fiercewhispering of that dark mass of men was very horrible. 

"At last they divided into two parties and moved off. When they hadpassed me I rose, weary and hopeless. The path to the warders' house wasdark and silent, but on each side the bushes rustled slightly. PresentlyI saw a faint thread of light before me. The chief warder, followed byhis three men, was approaching cautiously. But he had failed to closehis dark lantern properly. The convicts had seen that faint gleam, too. There was an awful savage yell, a turmoil on the dark path, shots fired, blows, groans: and with the sound of smashed bushes, the shouts of thepursuers and the screams of the pursued, the man-hunt, the warder-hunt, passed by me into the interior of the island. I was alone. And I assureyou, monsieur, I was indifferent to everything. After standing stillfor a while, I walked on along the path till I kicked something hard. Istooped and picked up a warder's revolver. I felt with my fingersthat it was loaded in five chambers. In the gusts of wind I heard theconvicts calling to each other far away, and then a roll of thunderwould cover the soughing and rustling of the trees. Suddenly, a biglight ran across my path very low along the ground. And it showed awoman's skirt with the edge of an apron. 

"I knew that the person who carried it must be the wife of the headwarder. They had forgotten all about her, it seems. A shot rang out inthe interior of the island, and she cried out to herself as she ran. Shepassed on. I followed, and presently I saw her again. She was pullingat the cord of the big bell which hangs at the end of the landing-pier, with one hand, and with the other she was swinging the heavy lantern toand fro. This is the agreed signal for the Ile Royale should assistancebe required at night. The wind carried the sound away from our islandand the light she swung was hidden on the shore side by the few treesthat grow near the warders' house. 

"I came up quite close to her from behind. She went on without stopping, without looking aside, as though she had been all alone on the island. A brave woman, monsieur. I put the revolver inside the breast of my blueblouse and waited. A flash of lightning and a clap of thunder destroyedboth the sound and the light of the signal for an instant, but she neverfaltered, pulling at the cord and swinging the lantern as regularly as amachine. She was a comely woman of thirty--no more. I thought to myself, 'All that's no good on a night like this. ' And I made up my mind thatif a body of my fellow-convicts came down to the pier--which was sure tohappen soon--I would shoot her through the head before I shot myself. Iknew the 'comrades' well. This idea of mine gave me quite an interestin life, monsieur; and at once, instead of remaining stupidly exposed onthe pier, I retreated a little way and crouched behind a bush. I did notintend to let myself be pounced upon unawares and be prevented perhapsfrom rendering a supreme service to at least one human creature before Idied myself. 

"But we must believe the signal was seen, for the galley from Ile Royalecame over in an astonishingly short time. The woman kept right on tillthe light of her lantern flashed upon the officer in command and thebayonets of the soldiers in the boat. Then she sat down and began tocry. 

"She didn't need me any more. I did not budge. Some soldiers were onlyin their shirt-sleeves, others without boots, just as the call to armshad found them. They passed by my bush at the double. The galley hadbeen sent away for more; and the woman sat all alone crying at the endof the pier, with the lantern standing on the ground near her. 

"Then suddenly I saw in the light at the end of the pier the redpantaloons of two more men. I was overcome with astonishment. They, too, started off at a run. Their tunics flapped unbuttoned and they werebare-headed. One of them panted out to the other, 'Straight on, straighton!'

"Where on earth did they spring from, I wondered. Slowly I walked downthe short pier. I saw the woman's form shaken by sobs and heard hermoaning more and more distinctly, 'Oh, my man! my poor man! my poorman!' I stole on quietly. She could neither hear nor see anything. Shehad thrown her apron over her head and was rocking herself to and fro inher grief. But I remarked a small boat fastened to the end of the pier. 

"Those two men--they looked like sous-officiers--must have come in it, after being too late, I suppose, for the galley. It is incredible thatthey should have thus broken the regulations from a sense of duty. Andit was a stupid thing to do. I could not believe my eyes in the verymoment I was stepping into that boat. 

"I pulled along the shore slowly. A black cloud hung over the Iles deSalut. I heard firing, shouts. Another hunt had begun--the convict-hunt. The oars were too long to pull comfortably. I managed them withdifficulty, though the boat herself was light. But when I got round tothe other side of the island the squall broke in rain and wind. I wasunable to make head against it. I let the boat drift ashore and securedher. 

"I knew the spot. There was a tumbledown old hovel standing near thewater. Cowering in there I heard through the noises of the wind and thefalling downpour some people tearing through the bushes. They came outon the strand. Soldiers perhaps. A flash of lightning threw everythingnear me into violent relief. Two convicts!

"And directly an amazed voice exclaimed. 'It's a miracle!' It was thevoice of Simon, otherwise Biscuit. 

"And another voice growled, 'What's a miracle?'

"'Why, there's a boat lying here!'

"'You must be mad, Simon! But there is, after all. . . . A boat. '

"They seemed awed into complete silence. The other man was Mafile. Hespoke again, cautiously. 

"'It is fastened up. There must be somebody here. '

"I spoke to them from within the hovel: 'I am here. '

"They came in then, and soon gave me to understand that the boat wastheirs, not mine. 'There are two of us, ' said Mafile, 'against youalone. '

"I got out into the open to keep clear of them for fear of getting atreacherous blow on the head. I could have shot them both where theystood. But I said nothing. I kept down the laughter rising in my throat. I made myself very humble and begged to be allowed to go. They consultedin low tones about my fate, while with my hand on the revolver in thebosom of my blouse I had their lives in my power. I let them live. Imeant them to pull that boat. I represented to them with abject humilitythat I understood the management of a boat, and that, being three topull, we could get a rest in turns. That decided them at last. It wastime. A little more and I would have gone into screaming fits at thedrollness of it. "

At this point his excitement broke out. He jumped off the bench andgesticulated. The great shadows of his arms darting over roof and wallsmade the shed appear too small to contain his agitation. 

"I deny nothing, " he burst out. "I was elated, monsieur. I tasted asort of felicity. But I kept very quiet. I took my turns at pullingall through the night. We made for the open sea, putting our trust ina passing ship. It was a foolhardy action. I persuaded them to it. Whenthe sun rose the immensity of water was calm, and the Iles de Salutappeared only like dark specks from the top of each swell. I wassteering then. Mafile, who was pulling bow, let out an oath and said, 'We must rest. '

"The time to laugh had come at last. And I took my fill of it, I cantell you. I held my sides and rolled in my seat, they had such startledfaces. 'What's got into him, the animal?' cries Mafile. 

"And Simon, who was nearest to me, says over his shoulder to him, 'Deviltake me if I don't think he's gone mad!'

"Then I produced the revolver. Aha! In a moment they both got thestoniest eyes you can imagine. Ha, ha! They were frightened. Butthey pulled. Oh, yes, they pulled all day, sometimes looking wild andsometimes looking faint. I lost nothing of it because I had to keep myeyes on them all the time, or else--crack!--they would have been on topof me in a second. I rested my revolver hand on my knee all ready andsteered with the other. Their faces began to blister. Sky and seaseemed on fire round us and the sea steamed in the sun. The boat made asizzling sound as she went through the water. Sometimes Mafile foamedat the mouth and sometimes he groaned. But he pulled. He dared not stop. His eyes became blood-shot all over, and he had bitten his lower lip topieces. Simon was as hoarse as a crow. 

"'Comrade--' he begins. 

"'There are no comrades here. I am your patron. '

"'Patron, then, ' he says, 'in the name of humanity let us rest. '

"I let them. There was a little rainwater washing about the bottom ofthe boat. I permitted them to snatch some of it in the hollow of theirpalms. But as I gave the command, 'En route!' I caught them exchangingsignificant glances. They thought I would have to go to sleep sometime!Aha! But I did not want to go to sleep. I was more awake than ever. Itis they who went to sleep as they pulled, tumbling off the thwarts headover heels suddenly, one after another. I let them lie. All the starswere out. It was a quiet world. The sun rose. Another day. Allez! Enroute!

"They pulled badly. Their eyes rolled about and their tongues hung out. In the middle of the forenoon Mafile croaks out: 'Let us make a rush athim, Simon. I would just as soon be shot at once as to die of thirst, hunger, and fatigue at the oar. '

"But while he spoke he pulled; and Simon kept on pulling too. It mademe smile. Ah! They loved their life these two, in this evil world oftheirs, just as I used to love my life, too, before they spoiled it forme with their phrases. I let them go on to the point of exhaustion, andonly then I pointed at the sails of a ship on the horizon. 

"Aha! You should have seen them revive and buckle to their work! ForI kept them at it to pull right across that ship's path. They werechanged. The sort of pity I had felt for them left me. They lookedmore like themselves every minute. They looked at me with the glances Iremembered so well. They were happy. They smiled. 

"'Well, ' says Simon, 'the energy of that youngster has saved our lives. If he hadn't made us, we could never have pulled so far out into thetrack of ships. Comrade, I forgive you. I admire you. '

"And Mafile growls from forward: 'We owe you a famous debt of gratitude, comrade. You are cut out for a chief. '

"Comrade! Monsieur! Ah, what a good word! And they, such men as thesetwo, had made it accursed. I looked at them. I remembered their lies, their promises, their menaces, and all my days of misery. Why could theynot have left me alone after I came out of prison? I looked at them andthought that while they lived I could never be free. Never. Neither Inor others like me with warm hearts and weak heads. For I know I havenot a strong head, monsieur. A black rage came upon me--the rage ofextreme intoxication--but not against the injustice of society. Oh, no!

"'I must be free!' I cried, furiously. 

"'Vive la liberte!" yells that ruffian Mafile. 'Mort aux bourgeois whosend us to Cayenne! They shall soon know that we are free. '

"The sky, the sea, the whole horizon, seemed to turn red, blood red allround the boat. My temples were beating so loud that I wondered theydid not hear. How is it that they did not? How is it they did notunderstand?

"I heard Simon ask, 'Have we not pulled far enough out now?'

"'Yes. Far enough, ' I said. I was sorry for him; it was the other Ihated. He hauled in his oar with a loud sigh, and as he was raising hishand to wipe his forehead with the air of a man who has done his work, I pulled the trigger of my revolver and shot him like this off the knee, right through the heart. 

"He tumbled down, with his head hanging over the side of the boat. I didnot give him a second glance. The other cried out piercingly. Only oneshriek of horror. Then all was still. 

"He slipped off the thwart on to his knees and raised his clasped handsbefore his face in an attitude of supplication. 'Mercy, ' he whispered, faintly. 'Mercy for me!--comrade. '

"'Ah, comrade, ' I said, in a low tone. 'Yes, comrade, of course. Well, then, shout Vive l'anarchie. '

"He flung up his arms, his face up to the sky and his mouth wide open ina great yell of despair. 'Vive l'anarchie! Vive--'

"He collapsed all in a heap, with a bullet through his head. 

"I flung them both overboard. I threw away the revolver, too. Then I satdown quietly. I was free at last! At last. I did not even look towardsthe ship; I did not care; indeed, I think I must have gone to sleep, because all of a sudden there were shouts and I found the ship almoston top of me. They hauled me on board and secured the boat astern. Theywere all blacks, except the captain, who was a mulatto. He alone knew afew words of French. I could not find out where they were going nor whothey were. They gave me something to eat every day; but I did not likethe way they used to discuss me in their language. Perhaps they weredeliberating about throwing me overboard in order to keep possession ofthe boat. How do I know? As we were passing this island I asked whetherit was inhabited. I understood from the mulatto that there was a houseon it. A farm, I fancied, they meant. So I asked them to put me ashoreon the beach and keep the boat for their trouble. This, I imagine, wasjust what they wanted. The rest you know. "

After pronouncing these words he lost suddenly all control over himself. He paced to and fro rapidly, till at last he broke into a run; his armswent like a windmill and his ejaculations became very much like raving. The burden of them was that he "denied nothing, nothing!" I could onlylet him go on, and sat out of his way, repeating, "Calmez vous, calmezvous, " at intervals, till his agitation exhausted itself. 

I must confess, too, that I remained there long after he had crawledunder his mosquito-net. He had entreated me not to leave him; so, asone sits up with a nervous child, I sat up with him--in the name ofhumanity--till he fell asleep. 

On the whole, my idea is that he was much more of an anarchist than heconfessed to me or to himself; and that, the special features of hiscase apart, he was very much like many other anarchists. Warm heart andweak head--that is the word of the riddle; and it is a fact that thebitterest contradictions and the deadliest conflicts of the world arecarried on in every individual breast capable of feeling and passion. 

From personal inquiry I can vouch that the story of the convict mutinywas in every particular as stated by him. 

When I got back to Horta from Cayenne and saw the "Anarchist" again, hedid not look well. He was more worn, still more frail, and very lividindeed under the grimy smudges of his calling. Evidently the meat of thecompany's main herd (in its unconcentrated form) did not agree with himat all. 

It was on the pontoon in Horta that we met; and I tried to induce him toleave the launch moored where she was and follow me to Europe there andthen. It would have been delightful to think of the excellent manager'ssurprise and disgust at the poor fellow's escape. But he refused withunconquerable obstinacy. 

"Surely you don't mean to live always here!" I cried. He shook his head. 

"I shall die here, " he said. Then added moodily, "Away from them. "

Sometimes I think of him lying open-eyed on his horseman's gear in thelow shed full of tools and scraps of iron--the anarchist slave of theMaranon estate, waiting with resignation for that sleep which "fled"from him, as he used to say, in such an unaccountable manner. 

A MILITARY TALE

THE DUEL

I

Napoleon I. , whose career had the quality of a duel against the wholeof Europe, disliked duelling between the officers of his army. The greatmilitary emperor was not a swashbuckler, and had little respect fortradition. 

Nevertheless, a story of duelling, which became a legend in the army, runs through the epic of imperial wars. To the surprise and admirationof their fellows, two officers, like insane artists trying to gildrefined gold or paint the lily, pursued a private contest through theyears of universal carnage. They were officers of cavalry, and theirconnection with the high-spirited but fanciful animal which carries meninto battle seems particularly appropriate. It would be difficult toimagine for heroes of this legend two officers of infantry of the line, for example, whose fantasy is tamed by much walking exercise, and whosevalour necessarily must be of a more plodding kind. As to gunners orengineers, whose heads are kept cool on a diet of mathematics, it issimply unthinkable. 

The names of the two officers were Feraud and D'Hubert, and they wereboth lieutenants in a regiment of hussars, but not in the same regiment. 

Feraud was doing regimental work, but Lieut. D'Hubert had the goodfortune to be attached to the person of the general commanding thedivision, as officier d'ordonnance. It was in Strasbourg, and in thisagreeable and important garrison they were enjoying greatly a shortinterval of peace. They were enjoying it, though both intensely warlike, because it was a sword-sharpening, firelock-cleaning peace, dear to amilitary heart and undamaging to military prestige, inasmuch that no onebelieved in its sincerity or duration. 

Under those historical circumstances, so favourable to the properappreciation of military leisure, Lieut. D'Hubert, one fine afternoon, made his way along a quiet street of a cheerful suburb towards Lieut. Feraud's quarters, which were in a private house with a garden at theback, belonging to an old maiden lady. 

His knock at the door was answered instantly by a young maid in Alsatiancostume. Her fresh complexion and her long eyelashes, lowered demurelyat the sight of the tall officer, caused Lieut. D'Hubert, who wasaccessible to esthetic impressions, to relax the cold, severe gravity ofhis face. At the same time he observed that the girl had over her arm apair of hussar's breeches, blue with a red stripe. 

"Lieut. Feraud in?" he inquired, benevolently. 

"Oh, no, sir! He went out at six this morning. "

The pretty maid tried to close the door. Lieut. D'Hubert, opposing thismove with gentle firmness, stepped into the ante-room, jingling hisspurs. 

"Come, my dear! You don't mean to say he has not been home since sixo'clock this morning?"

Saying these words, Lieut. D'Hubert opened without ceremony the doorof a room so comfortably and neatly ordered that only from internalevidence in the shape of boots, uniforms, and military accoutrements didhe acquire the conviction that it was Lieut. Feraud's room. And he sawalso that Lieut. Feraud was not at home. The truthful maid had followedhim, and raised her candid eyes to his face. 

"H'm!" said Lieut. D'Hubert, greatly disappointed, for he had alreadyvisited all the haunts where a lieutenant of hussars could be found of afine afternoon. "So he's out? And do you happen to know, my dear, why hewent out at six this morning?"

"No, " she answered, readily. "He came home late last night, and snored. I heard him when I got up at five. Then he dressed himself in his oldestuniform and went out. Service, I suppose. "

"Service? Not a bit of it!" cried Lieut. D'Hubert. "Learn, my angel, that he went out thus early to fight a duel with a civilian. "

She heard this news without a quiver of her dark eyelashes. It wasvery obvious that the actions of Lieut. Feraud were generally abovecriticism. She only looked up for a moment in mute surprise, and Lieut. D'Hubert concluded from this absence of emotion that she must have seenLieut. Feraud since the morning. He looked around the room. 

"Come!" he insisted, with confidential familiarity. "He's perhapssomewhere in the house now?"

She shook her head. 

"So much the worse for him!" continued Lieut. D'Hubert, in a tone ofanxious conviction. "But he has been home this morning. "

This time the pretty maid nodded slightly. 

"He has!" cried Lieut. D'Hubert. "And went out again? What for? Couldn'the keep quietly indoors! What a lunatic! My dear girl--"

Lieut. D'Hubert's natural kindness of disposition and strong sense ofcomradeship helped his powers of observation. He changed his tone to amost insinuating softness, and, gazing at the hussar's breeches hangingover the arm of the girl, he appealed to the interest she took in Lieut. Feraud's comfort and happiness. He was pressing and persuasive. He usedhis eyes, which were kind and fine, with excellent effect. His anxietyto get hold at once of Lieut. Feraud, for Lieut. Feraud's own good, seemed so genuine that at last it overcame the girl's unwillingness tospeak. Unluckily she had not much to tell. Lieut. Feraud had returnedhome shortly before ten, had walked straight into his room, and hadthrown himself on his bed to resume his slumbers. She had heard himsnore rather louder than before far into the afternoon. Then he got up, put on his best uniform, and went out. That was all she knew. 

She raised her eyes, and Lieut. D'Hubert stared into them incredulously. 

"It's incredible. Gone parading the town in his best uniform! My dearchild, don't you know he ran that civilian through this morning? Cleanthrough, as you spit a hare. "

The pretty maid heard the gruesome intelligence without any signs ofdistress. But she pressed her lips together thoughtfully. 

"He isn't parading the town, " she remarked in a low tone. "Far from it. "

"The civilian's family is making an awful row, " continued Lieut. D'Hubert, pursuing his train of thought. "And the general is very angry. It's one of the best families in the town. Feraud ought to have keptclose at least--"

"What will the general do to him?" inquired the girl, anxiously. 

"He won't have his head cut off, to be sure, " grumbled Lieut. D'Hubert. "His conduct is positively indecent. He's making no end of trouble forhimself by this sort of bravado. "

"But he isn't parading the town, " the maid insisted in a shy murmur. 

"Why, yes! Now I think of it, I haven't seen him anywhere about. What onearth has he done with himself?"

"He's gone to pay a call, " suggested the maid, after a moment ofsilence. 

Lieut. D'Hubert started. 

"A call! Do you mean a call on a lady? The cheek of the man! And how doyou know this, my dear?"

Without concealing her woman's scorn for the denseness of the masculinemind, the pretty maid reminded him that Lieut. Feraud had arrayedhimself in his best uniform before going out. He had also put on hisnewest dolman, she added, in a tone as if this conversation were gettingon her nerves, and turned away brusquely. 

Lieut. D'Hubert, without questioning the accuracy of the deduction, didnot see that it advanced him much on his official quest. For his questafter Lieut. Feraud had an official character. He did not know any ofthe women this fellow, who had run a man through in the morning, waslikely to visit in the afternoon. The two young men knew each other butslightly. He bit his gloved finger in perplexity. 

"Call!" he exclaimed. "Call on the devil!"

The girl, with her back to him, and folding the hussars breeches on achair, protested with a vexed little laugh:

"Oh, dear, no! On Madame de Lionne. "

Lieut. D'Hubert whistled softly. Madame de Lionne was the wife of a highofficial who had a well-known salon and some pretensions to sensibilityand elegance. The husband was a civilian, and old; but the society ofthe salon was young and military. Lieut. D'Hubert had whistled, notbecause the idea of pursuing Lieut. Feraud into that very salon wasdisagreeable to him, but because, having arrived in Strasbourg onlylately, he had not had the time as yet to get an introduction toMadame de Lionne. And what was that swashbuckler Feraud doing there, hewondered. He did not seem the sort of man who--

"Are you certain of what you say?" asked Lieut. D'Hubert. 

The girl was perfectly certain. Without turning round to look at him, she explained that the coachman of their next door neighbours knew themaitre-d'hotel of Madame de Lionne. In this way she had her information. And she was perfectly certain. In giving this assurance she sighed. Lieut. Feraud called there nearly every afternoon, she added. 

"Ah, bah!" exclaimed D'Hubert, ironically. His opinion of Madame deLionne went down several degrees. Lieut. Feraud did not seem to himspecially worthy of attention on the part of a woman with a reputationfor sensibility and elegance. But there was no saying. At bottom theywere all alike--very practical rather than idealistic. Lieut. D'Hubert, however, did not allow his mind to dwell on these considerations. 

"By thunder!" he reflected aloud. "The general goes there sometimes. Ifhe happens to find the fellow making eyes at the lady there will be thedevil to pay! Our general is not a very accommodating person, I can tellyou. "

"Go quickly, then! Don't stand here now I've told you where he is!"cried the girl, colouring to the eyes. 

"Thanks, my dear! I don't know what I would have done without you. "

After manifesting his gratitude in an aggressive way, which at first wasrepulsed violently, and then submitted to with a sudden and still morerepellent indifference, Lieut. D'Hubert took his departure. 

He clanked and jingled along the streets with a martial swagger. Torun a comrade to earth in a drawing-room where he was not known didnot trouble him in the least. A uniform is a passport. His position asofficier d'ordonnance of the general added to his assurance. Moreover, now that he knew where to find Lieut. Feraud, he had no option. It was aservice matter. 

Madame de Lionne's house had an excellent appearance. A man in livery, opening the door of a large drawing-room with a waxed floor, shouted hisname and stood aside to let him pass. It was a reception day. The ladieswore big hats surcharged with a profusion of feathers; their bodiessheathed in clinging white gowns, from the armpits to the tips of thelow satin shoes, looked sylph-like and cool in a great display of barenecks and arms. The men who talked with them, on the contrary, werearrayed heavily in multi-coloured garments with collars up to their earsand thick sashes round their waists. Lieut. D'Hubert made his unabashedway across the room and, bowing low before a sylph-like form recliningon a couch, offered his apologies for this intrusion, which nothingcould excuse but the extreme urgency of the service order he had tocommunicate to his comrade Feraud. He proposed to himself to returnpresently in a more regular manner and beg forgiveness for interruptingthe interesting conversation . . . 

A bare arm was extended towards him with gracious nonchalance evenbefore he had finished speaking. He pressed the hand respectfully to hislips, and made the mental remark that it was bony. Madame de Lionne wasa blonde, with too fine a skin and a long face. 

"C'est ca!" she said, with an ethereal smile, disclosing a set of largeteeth. "Come this evening to plead for your forgiveness. "

"I will not fail, madame. "

Meantime, Lieut. Feraud, splendid in his new dolman and the extremelypolished boots of his calling, sat on a chair within a foot of thecouch, one hand resting on his thigh, the other twirling his moustacheto a point. At a significant glance from D'Hubert he rose withoutalacrity, and followed him into the recess of a window. 

"What is it you want with me?" he asked, with astonishing indifference. Lieut. D'Hubert could not imagine that in the innocence of his heart andsimplicity of his conscience Lieut. Feraud took a view of his duel inwhich neither remorse nor yet a rational apprehension of consequenceshad any place. Though he had no clear recollection how the quarrel hadoriginated (it was begun in an establishment where beer and wine aredrunk late at night), he had not the slightest doubt of being himselfthe outraged party. He had had two experienced friends for his seconds. Everything had been done according to the rules governing that sort ofadventures. And a duel is obviously fought for the purpose of someonebeing at least hurt, if not killed outright. The civilian got hurt. That also was in order. Lieut. Feraud was perfectly tranquil; but Lieut. D'Hubert took it for affectation, and spoke with a certain vivacity. 

"I am directed by the general to give you the order to go at once toyour quarters, and remain there under close arrest. "

It was now the turn of Lieut. Feraud to be astonished. "What the devilare you telling me there?" he murmured, faintly, and fell into suchprofound wonder that he could only follow mechanically the motions ofLieut. D'Hubert. The two officers, one tall, with an interesting faceand a moustache the colour of ripe corn, the other, short and sturdy, with a hooked nose and a thick crop of black curly hair, approached themistress of the house to take their leave. Madame de Lionne, a womanof eclectic taste, smiled upon these armed young men with impartialsensibility and an equal share of interest. Madame de Lionne took herdelight in the infinite variety of the human species. All the other eyesin the drawing-room followed the departing officers; and when they hadgone out one or two men, who had already heard of the duel, imparted theinformation to the sylph-like ladies, who received it with faint shrieksof humane concern. 

Meantime, the two hussars walked side by side, Lieut. Feraud trying tomaster the hidden reason of things which in this instance eluded thegrasp of his intellect, Lieut. D'Hubert feeling annoyed at the part hehad to play, because the general's instructions were that he should seepersonally that Lieut. Feraud carried out his orders to the letter, andat once. 

"The chief seems to know this animal, " he thought, eyeing his companion, whose round face, the round eyes, and even the twisted-up jet blacklittle moustache seemed animated by a mental exasperation against theincomprehensible. And aloud he observed rather reproachfully, "Thegeneral is in a devilish fury with you!"

Lieut. Feraud stopped short on the edge of the pavement, and cried inaccents of unmistakable sincerity, "What on earth for?" The innocence ofthe fiery Gascon soul was depicted in the manner in which he seized hishead in both hands as if to prevent it bursting with perplexity. 

"For the duel, " said Lieut. D'Hubert, curtly. He was annoyed greatly bythis sort of perverse fooling. 

"The duel! The . . . "

Lieut. Feraud passed from one paroxysm of astonishment into another. He dropped his hands and walked on slowly, trying to reconcile thisinformation with the state of his own feelings. It was impossible. Heburst out indignantly, "Was I to let that sauerkraut-eating civilianwipe his boots on the uniform of the 7th Hussars?"

Lieut. D'Hubert could not remain altogether unmoved by that simplesentiment. This little fellow was a lunatic, he thought to himself, butthere was something in what he said. 

"Of course, I don't know how far you were justified, " he began, soothingly. "And the general himself may not be exactly informed. Thosepeople have been deafening him with their lamentations. "

"Ah! the general is not exactly informed, " mumbled Lieut. Feraud, walking faster and faster as his choler at the injustice of his fatebegan to rise. "He is not exactly . . . And he orders me under closearrest, with God knows what afterwards!"

"Don't excite yourself like this, " remonstrated the other. "Youradversary's people are very influential, you know, and it looks badenough on the face of it. The general had to take notice of theircomplaint at once. I don't think he means to be over-severe with you. It's the best thing for you to be kept out of sight for a while. "

"I am very much obliged to the general, " muttered Lieut. Feraud throughhis teeth. "And perhaps you would say I ought to be grateful to you, too, for the trouble you have taken to hunt me up in the drawing-room ofa lady who--"

"Frankly, " interrupted Lieut. D'Hubert, with an innocent laugh, "I thinkyou ought to be. I had no end of trouble to find out where you were. It wasn't exactly the place for you to disport yourself in under thecircumstances. If the general had caught you there making eyes at thegoddess of the temple . . . Oh, my word! . . . He hates to be botheredwith complaints against his officers, you know. And it looked uncommonlylike sheer bravado. "

The two officers had arrived now at the street door of Lieut. Feraud'slodgings. The latter turned towards his companion. "Lieut. D'Hubert, " hesaid, "I have something to say to you, which can't be said very well inthe street. You can't refuse to come up. "

The pretty maid had opened the door. Lieut. Feraud brushed past herbrusquely, and she raised her scared and questioning eyes to Lieut. D'Hubert, who could do nothing but shrug his shoulders slightly as hefollowed with marked reluctance. 

In his room Lieut. Feraud unhooked the clasp, flung his new dolman onthe bed, and, folding his arms across his chest, turned to the otherhussar. 

"Do you imagine I am a man to submit tamely to injustice?" he inquired, in a boisterous voice. 

"Oh, do be reasonable!" remonstrated Lieut. D'Hubert. 

"I am reasonable! I am perfectly reasonable!" retorted the otherwith ominous restraint. "I can't call the general to account for hisbehaviour, but you are going to answer me for yours. "

"I can't listen to this nonsense, " murmured Lieut. D'Hubert, making aslightly contemptuous grimace. 

"You call this nonsense? It seems to me a perfectly plain statement. Unless you don't understand French. "

"What on earth do you mean?"

"I mean, " screamed suddenly Lieut. Feraud, "to cut off your ears toteach you to disturb me with the general's orders when I am talking to alady!"

A profound silence followed this mad declaration; and through the openwindow Lieut. D'Hubert heard the little birds singing sanely in thegarden. He said, preserving his calm, "Why! If you take that tone, of course I shall hold myself at your disposition whenever you are atliberty to attend to this affair; but I don't think you will cut my earsoff. "

"I am going to attend to it at once, " declared Lieut. Feraud, withextreme truculence. "If you are thinking of displaying your airs andgraces to-night in Madame de Lionne's salon you are very much mistaken. "

"Really!" said Lieut. D'Hubert, who was beginning to feel irritated, "you are an impracticable sort of fellow. The general's orders tome were to put you under arrest, not to carve you into small pieces. Good-morning!" And turning his back on the little Gascon, who, alwayssober in his potations, was as though born intoxicated with the sunshineof his vine-ripening country, the Northman, who could drink hard onoccasion, but was born sober under the watery skies of Picardy, made forthe door. Hearing, however, the unmistakable sound behind his back of asword drawn from the scabbard, he had no option but to stop. 

"Devil take this mad Southerner!" he thought, spinning round andsurveying with composure the warlike posture of Lieut. Feraud, with abare sword in his hand. 

"At once!--at once!" stuttered Feraud, beside himself. 

"You had my answer, " said the other, keeping his temper very well. 

At first he had been only vexed, and somewhat amused; but now his facegot clouded. He was asking himself seriously how he could manage toget away. It was impossible to run from a man with a sword, and asto fighting him, it seemed completely out of the question. He waitedawhile, then said exactly what was in his heart. 

"Drop this! I won't fight with you. I won't be made ridiculous. "

"Ah, you won't?" hissed the Gascon. "I suppose you prefer to be madeinfamous. Do you hear what I say? . . . Infamous! Infamous! Infamous!"he shrieked, rising and falling on his toes and getting very red in theface. 

Lieut. D'Hubert, on the contrary, became very pale at the sound of theunsavoury word for a moment, then flushed pink to the roots of hisfair hair. "But you can't go out to fight; you are under arrest, youlunatic!" he objected, with angry scorn. 

"There's the garden: it's big enough to lay out your long carcass in, "spluttered the other with such ardour that somehow the anger of thecooler man subsided. 

"This is perfectly absurd, " he said, glad enough to think he had found away out of it for the moment. "We shall never get any of our comrades toserve as seconds. It's preposterous. "

"Seconds! Damn the seconds! We don't want any seconds. Don't you worryabout any seconds. I shall send word to your friends to come and buryyou when I am done. And if you want any witnesses, I'll send word to theold girl to put her head out of a window at the back. Stay! There's thegardener. He'll do. He's as deaf as a post, but he has two eyes in hishead. Come along! I will teach you, my staff officer, that the carryingabout of a general's orders is not always child's play. "

While thus discoursing he had unbuckled his empty scabbard. He sent itflying under the bed, and, lowering the point of the sword, brushed pastthe perplexed Lieut. D'Hubert, exclaiming, "Follow me!" Directly he hadflung open the door a faint shriek was heard and the pretty maid, whohad been listening at the keyhole, staggered away, putting the backsof her hands over her eyes. Feraud did not seem to see her, but she ranafter him and seized his left arm. He shook her off, and then she rushedtowards Lieut. D'Hubert and clawed at the sleeve of his uniform. 

"Wretched man!" she sobbed. "Is this what you wanted to find him for?"

"Let me go, " entreated Lieut. D'Hubert, trying to disengagehimself gently. "It's like being in a madhouse, " he protested, withexasperation. "Do let me go! I won't do him any harm. "

A fiendish laugh from Lieut. Feraud commented that assurance. "Comealong!" he shouted, with a stamp of his foot. 

And Lieut. D'Hubert did follow. He could do nothing else. Yet invindication of his sanity it must be recorded that as he passed throughthe ante-room the notion of opening the street door and bolting outpresented itself to this brave youth, only of course to be instantlydismissed, for he felt sure that the other would pursue him withoutshame or compunction. And the prospect of an officer of hussars beingchased along the street by another officer of hussars with a naked swordcould not be for a moment entertained. Therefore he followed into thegarden. Behind them the girl tottered out, too. With ashy lips and wild, scared eyes, she surrendered herself to a dreadful curiosity. She hadalso the notion of rushing if need be between Lieut. Feraud and death. 

The deaf gardener, utterly unconscious of approaching footsteps, wenton watering his flowers till Lieut. Feraud thumped him on the back. Beholding suddenly an enraged man flourishing a big sabre, the old chaptrembling in all his limbs dropped the watering-pot. At once Lieut. Feraud kicked it away with great animosity, and, seizing the gardenerby the throat, backed him against a tree. He held him there, shouting inhis ear, "Stay here, and look on! You understand? You've got to look on!Don't dare budge from the spot!"

Lieut. D'Hubert came slowly down the walk, unclasping his dolman withunconcealed disgust. Even then, with his hand already on the hilt of hissword, he hesitated to draw till a roar, "En garde, fichtre! What do youthink you came here for?" and the rush of his adversary forced him toput himself as quickly as possible in a posture of defence. 

The clash of arms filled that prim garden, which hitherto had known nomore warlike sound than the click of clipping shears; and presently theupper part of an old lady's body was projected out of a window upstairs. She tossed her arms above her white cap, scolding in a cracked voice. The gardener remained glued to the tree, his toothless mouth open inidiotic astonishment, and a little farther up the path the pretty girl, as if spellbound to a small grass plot, ran a few steps this way andthat, wringing her hands and muttering crazily. She did not rush betweenthe combatants: the onslaughts of Lieut. Feraud were so fierce thather heart failed her. Lieut. D'Hubert, his faculties concentrated upondefence, needed all his skill and science of the sword to stop therushes of his adversary. Twice already he had to break ground. Itbothered him to feel his foothold made insecure by the round, dry gravelof the path rolling under the hard soles of his boots. This was mostunsuitable ground, he thought, keeping a watchful, narrowed gaze, shadedby long eyelashes, upon the fiery stare of his thick-set adversary. Thisabsurd affair would ruin his reputation of a sensible, well-behaved, promising young officer. It would damage, at any rate, his immediateprospects, and lose him the good-will of his general. These worldlypreoccupations were no doubt misplaced in view of the solemnity of themoment. A duel, whether regarded as a ceremony in the cult of honour, oreven when reduced in its moral essence to a form of manly sport, demandsa perfect singleness of intention, a homicidal austerity of mood. Onthe other hand, this vivid concern for his future had not a bad effectinasmuch as it began to rouse the anger of Lieut. D'Hubert. Some seventyseconds had elapsed since they had crossed blades, and Lieut. D'Huberthad to break ground again in order to avoid impaling his recklessadversary like a beetle for a cabinet of specimens. The result was thatmisapprehending the motive, Lieut. Feraud with a triumphant sort ofsnarl pressed his attack. 

"This enraged animal will have me against the wall directly, " thoughtLieut. D'Hubert. He imagined himself much closer to the house thanhe was, and he dared not turn his head; it seemed to him that he waskeeping his adversary off with his eyes rather more than with his point. Lieut. Feraud crouched and bounded with a fierce tigerish agility fit totrouble the stoutest heart. But what was more appalling than the furyof a wild beast, accomplishing in all innocence of heart a naturalfunction, was the fixity of savage purpose man alone is capable ofdisplaying. Lieut. D 'Hubert in the midst of his worldly preoccupationsperceived it at last. It was an absurd and damaging affair to be drawninto, but whatever silly intention the fellow had started with, it wasclear enough that by this time he meant to kill--nothing less. He meantit with an intensity of will utterly beyond the inferior faculties of atiger. 

As is the case with constitutionally brave men, the full view ofthe danger interested Lieut. D'Hubert. And directly he got properlyinterested, the length of his arm and the coolness of his head toldin his favour. It was the turn of Lieut. Feraud to recoil, with abloodcurdling grunt of baffled rage. He made a swift feint, and thenrushed straight forward. 

"Ah! you would, would you?" Lieut. D'Hubert exclaimed, mentally. Thecombat had lasted nearly two minutes, time enough for any man to getembittered, apart from the merits of the quarrel. And all at once itwas over. Trying to close breast to breast under his adversary's guardLieut. Feraud received a slash on his shortened arm. He did not feelit in the least, but it checked his rush, and his feet slipping onthe gravel he fell backwards with great violence. The shock jarred hisboiling brain into the perfect quietude of insensibility. Simultaneouslywith his fall the pretty servant-girl shrieked; but the old maiden ladyat the window ceased her scolding, and began to cross herself piously. 

Beholding his adversary stretched out perfectly still, his face to thesky, Lieut. D'Hubert thought he had killed him outright. The impressionof having slashed hard enough to cut his man clean in two abode with himfor a while in an exaggerated memory of the right good-will he hadput into the blow. He dropped on his knees hastily by the side of theprostrate body. Discovering that not even the arm was severed, a slightsense of disappointment mingled with the feeling of relief. The fellowdeserved the worst. But truly he did not want the death of that sinner. The affair was ugly enough as it stood, and Lieut. D'Hubert addressedhimself at once to the task of stopping the bleeding. In this task itwas his fate to be ridiculously impeded by the pretty maid. Rending theair with screams of horror, she attacked him from behind and, twiningher fingers in his hair, tugged back at his head. Why she shouldchoose to hinder him at this precise moment he could not in the leastunderstand. He did not try. It was all like a very wicked and harassingdream. Twice to save himself from being pulled over he had to rise andfling her off. He did this stoically, without a word, kneeling downagain at once to go on with his work. But the third time, his work beingdone, he seized her and held her arms pinned to her body. Her cap washalf off, her face was red, her eyes blazed with crazy boldness. Helooked mildly into them while she called him a wretch, a traitor, and amurderer many times in succession. This did not annoy him so much as theconviction that she had managed to scratch his face abundantly. Ridiculewould be added to the scandal of the story. He imagined the adorned talemaking its way through the garrison of the town, through the whole armyon the frontier, with every possible distortion of motive and sentimentand circumstance, spreading a doubt upon the sanity of his conduct andthe distinction of his taste even to the very ears of his honourablefamily. It was all very well for that fellow Feraud, who had noconnections, no family to speak of, and no quality but courage, which, anyhow, was a matter of course, and possessed by every single trooperin the whole mass of French cavalry. Still holding down the arms of thegirl in a strong grip, Lieut. D'Hubert glanced over his shoulder. Lieut. Feraud had opened his eyes. He did not move. Like a man just waking froma deep sleep he stared without any expression at the evening sky. 

Lieut. D'Hubert's urgent shouts to the old gardener produced noeffect--not so much as to make him shut his toothless mouth. Thenhe remembered that the man was stone deaf. All that time the girlstruggled, not with maidenly coyness, but like a pretty, dumb fury, kicking his shins now and then. He continued to hold her as if in avice, his instinct telling him that were he to let her go she would flyat his eyes. But he was greatly humiliated by his position. At last shegave 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 runfor a surgeon if I let you go?"

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

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

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

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

Lieut. D'Hubert released the girl who crouched at once by the side ofthe other lieutenant. The shades of night were falling on the littletrim garden with this touching group, whence proceeded low murmursof sorrow and compassion, with other feeble sounds of a differentcharacter, 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 thedusk concealing his gory hands and scratched face from the passers-by. But this story could by no means be concealed. He dreaded the discreditand ridicule above everything, and was painfully aware of sneakingthrough the back streets in the manner of a murderer. Presently thesounds of a flute coming out of the open window of a lighted upstairsroom in a modest house interrupted his dismal reflections. It was beingplayed with a persevering virtuosity, and through the fioritures of thetune one could hear the regular thumping of the foot beating time on thefloor. 

Lieut. D'Hubert shouted a name, which was that of an army surgeon whomhe knew fairly well. The sounds of the flute ceased, and the musicianappeared at the window, his instrument still in his hand, peering intothe street. 

"Who calls? You, D'Hubert? What brings you this way?"

He did not like to be disturbed at the hour when he was playing theflute. He was a man whose hair had turned grey already in the thanklesstask of tying up wounds on battlefields where others reaped advancementand glory. 

"I want you to go at once and see Feraud. You know Lieut. Feraud? Helives down the second street. It's but a step from here. "

"What's the matter with him?"

"Wounded. "

"Are you sure?"

"Sure!" cried D'Hubert. "I come from there. "

"That's amusing, " said the elderly surgeon. Amusing was his favouriteword; but the expression of his face when he pronounced it nevercorresponded. He was a stolid man. "Come in, " he added. "I'll get readyin a moment. "

"Thanks! I will. I want to wash my hands in your room. "

Lieut. D'Hubert found the surgeon occupied in unscrewing his flute, andpacking the pieces methodically in a case. He turned his head. 

"Water there--in the corner. Your hands do want washing. "

"I've stopped the bleeding, " said Lieut. D'Hubert. "But you had bettermake haste. It's rather more than ten minutes ago, you know. "

The surgeon did not hurry his movements. 

"What's the matter? Dressing came off? That's amusing. I've been at workin the hospital all day but I've been told this morning by somebody thathe had come off without a scratch. "

"Not the same duel probably, " growled moodily Lieut. D'Hubert, wipinghis hands on a coarse towel. 

"Not the same. . . . What? Another. It would take the very devil tomake me go out twice in one day. " The surgeon looked narrowly at Lieut. D'Hubert. "How did you come by that scratched face? Both sides, too--andsymmetrical. It's amusing. "

"Very!" snarled Lieut. D'Hubert. "And you will find his slashed armamusing, too. It will keep both of you amused for quite a long time. "

The doctor was mystified and impressed by the brusque bitterness ofLieut. D'Hubert's tone. They left the house together, and in the streethe was still more mystified by his conduct. 

"Aren't you coming with me?" he asked. 

"No, " said Lieut. D'Hubert. "You can find the house by yourself. Thefront door will be standing open very likely. "

"All right. Where's his room?"

"Ground floor. But you had better go right through and look in thegarden first. "

This astonishing piece of information made the surgeon go off withoutfurther parley. Lieut. D'Hubert regained his quarters nursing a hot anduneasy indignation. He dreaded the chaff of his comrades almost as muchas the anger of his superiors. The truth was confoundedly grotesque andembarrassing, even putting aside the irregularity of the combat itself, which made it come abominably near a criminal offence. Like allmen without much imagination, a faculty which helps the process ofreflective thought, Lieut. D'Hubert became frightfully harassed by theobvious aspects of his predicament. He was certainly glad that he hadnot killed Lieut. Feraud outside all rules, and without the regularwitnesses proper to such a transaction. Uncommonly glad. At the sametime he felt as though he would have liked to wring his neck for himwithout ceremony. 

He was still under the sway of these contradictory sentiments when thesurgeon amateur of the flute came to see him. More than three days hadelapsed. Lieut. D'Hubert was no longer officier d'ordonnance to thegeneral commanding the division. He had been sent back to his regiment. And he was resuming his connection with the soldiers' military family bybeing shut up in close confinement, not at his own quarters in town, butin a room in the barracks. Owing to the gravity of the incident, he wasforbidden to see any one. He did not know what had happened, what wasbeing said, or what was being thought. The arrival of the surgeon was amost unexpected thing to the worried captive. The amateur of the flutebegan by explaining that he was there only by a special favour of thecolonel. 

"I represented to him that it would be only fair to let you have someauthentic news of your adversary, " he continued. "You'll be glad to hearhe's getting better fast. "

Lieut. D'Hubert's face exhibited no conventional signs of gladness. Hecontinued to walk the floor of the dusty bare room. 

"Take this chair, doctor, " he mumbled. 

The doctor sat down. 

"This affair is variously appreciated--in town and in the army. In fact, the diversity of opinions is amusing. "

"Is it!" mumbled Lieut. D'Hubert, tramping steadily from wall to wall. But within himself he marvelled that there could be two opinions on thematter. The surgeon continued. 

"Of course, as the real facts are not known--"

"I should have thought, " interrupted D'Hubert, "that the fellow wouldhave put you in possession of facts. "

"He said something, " admitted the other, "the first time I saw him. And, by the by, I did find him in the garden. The thump on the back of hishead had made him a little incoherent then. Afterwards he was ratherreticent than otherwise. "

"Didn't think he would have the grace to be ashamed!" mumbled D'Hubert, resuming his pacing while the doctor murmured, "It's very amusing. Ashamed! Shame was not exactly his frame of mind. However, you may lookat the matter otherwise. "

"What are you talking about? What matter?" asked D'Hubert, with asidelong look at the heavy-faced, grey-haired figure seated on a woodenchair. 

"Whatever it is, " said the surgeon a little impatiently, "I don't wantto pronounce any opinion on your conduct--"

"By heavens, you had better not!" burst out D'Hubert. 

"There!--there! Don't be so quick in flourishing the sword. It doesn'tpay in the long run. Understand once for all that I would not carve anyof you youngsters except with the tools of my trade. But my adviceis good. If you go on like this you will make for yourself an uglyreputation. "

"Go on like what?" demanded Lieut. D'Hubert, stopping short, quitestartled. "I!--I!--make for myself a reputation. . . . What do youimagine?"

"I told you I don't wish to judge of the rights and wrongs of thisincident. It's not my business. Nevertheless--"

"What on earth has he been telling you?" interrupted Lieut. D'Hubert, ina sort of awed scare. 

"I told you already, that at first, when I picked him up in the garden, he was incoherent. Afterwards he was naturally reticent. But I gather atleast that he could not help himself. "

"He couldn't?" shouted Lieut. D'Hubert in a great voice. Then, loweringhis tone impressively, "And what about me? Could I help myself?"

The surgeon stood up. His thoughts were running upon the flute, hisconstant companion with a consoling voice. In the vicinity of fieldambulances, after twenty-four hours' hard work, he had been known totrouble with its sweet sounds the horrible stillness of battlefields, given over to silence and the dead. The solacing hour of his daily lifewas approaching, and in peace time he held on to the minutes as a miserto his hoard. 

"Of course!--of course!" he said, perfunctorily. "You would think so. It's amusing. However, being perfectly neutral and friendly to you both, I have consented to deliver his message to you. Say that I am humouringan invalid if you like. He wants you to know that this affair is byno means at an end. He intends to send you his seconds directly he hasregained his strength--providing, of course, the army is not in thefield at that time. "

"He intends, does he? Why, certainly, " spluttered Lieut. D'Hubert in apassion. 

The secret of his exasperation was not apparent to the visitor; but thispassion confirmed the surgeon in the belief which was gaining groundoutside that some very serious difference had arisen between these twoyoung men, something serious enough to wear an air of mystery, somefact of the utmost gravity. To settle their urgent difference about thatfact, those two young men had risked being broken and disgraced at theoutset almost of their career. The surgeon feared that the forthcominginquiry would fail to satisfy the public curiosity. They would not takethe public into their confidence as to that something which had passedbetween them of a nature so outrageous as to make them face a charge ofmurder--neither more nor less. But what could it be?

The surgeon was not very curious by temperament; but that questionhaunting his mind caused him twice that evening to hold the instrumentoff his lips and sit silent for a whole minute--right in the middle of atune--trying to form a plausible conjecture. 

II

He succeeded in this object no better than the rest of the garrison andthe whole of society. The two young officers, of no especial consequencetill then, became distinguished by the universal curiosity as to theorigin of their quarrel. Madame de Lionne's salon was the centreof ingenious surmises; that lady herself was for a time assailed byinquiries as being the last person known to have spoken to these unhappyand reckless young men before they went out together from her house toa savage encounter with swords, at dusk, in a private garden. Sheprotested she had not observed anything unusual in their demeanour. Lieut. Feraud had been visibly annoyed at being called away. That wasnatural enough; no man likes to be disturbed in a conversation with alady famed for her elegance and sensibility. But in truth the subjectbored Madame de Lionne, since her personality could by no stretch ofreckless gossip be connected with this affair. And it irritated her tohear it advanced that there might have been some woman in the case. Thisirritation arose, not from her elegance or sensibility, but from a moreinstinctive side of her nature. It became so great at last that sheperemptorily forbade the subject to be mentioned under her roof. Nearher couch the prohibition was obeyed, but farther off in the salonthe pall of the imposed silence continued to be lifted more or less. Apersonage with a long, pale face, resembling the countenance of asheep, opined, shaking his head, that it was a quarrel of long standingenvenomed by time. It was objected to him that the men themselves weretoo young for such a theory. They belonged also to different and distantparts of France. There were other physical impossibilities, too. Asub-commissary of the Intendence, an agreeable and cultivated bachelorin kerseymere breeches, Hessian boots, and a blue coat embroidered withsilver 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 quiteinconceivable in the present state of their being; but their soulsremembered the animosity, and manifested an instinctive antagonism. Hedeveloped this theme jocularly. Yet the affair was so absurd from theworldly, the military, the honourable, or the prudential point of view, that this weird explanation seemed rather more reasonable than anyother. 

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

Lieut. D'Hubert kept silent for the immediate reason that there was noone, except a stupid young soldier servant, to speak to. Further, hewas aware that the episode, so grave professionally, had its comicside. When reflecting upon it, he still felt that he would like to wringLieut. Feraud's neck for him. But this formula was figurative ratherthan precise, and expressed more a state of mind than an actual physicalimpulse. At the same time, there was in that young man a feeling ofcomradeship and kindness which made him unwilling to make the positionof Lieut. Feraud worse than it was. He did not want to talk at largeabout this wretched affair. At the inquiry he would have, of course, tospeak the truth in self-defence. This prospect vexed him. 

But no inquiry took place. The army took the field instead. Lieut. D'Hubert, liberated without remark, took up his regimental duties; andLieut. Feraud, his arm just out of the sling, rode unquestioned with hissquadron to complete his convalescence in the smoke of battlefields andthe fresh air of night bivouacs. This bracing treatment suited him sowell, that at the first rumour of an armistice being signed he couldturn without misgivings to the thoughts of his private warfare. 

This time it was to be regular warfare. He sent two friends to Lieut. D'Hubert, whose regiment was stationed only a few miles away. Thosefriends had asked no questions of their principal. "I owe him one, thatpretty staff officer, " he had said, grimly, and they went away quitecontentedly on their mission. Lieut. D'Hubert had no difficulty infinding two friends equally discreet and devoted to their principal. "There's a crazy fellow to whom I must give a lesson, " he had declaredcurtly; and they asked for no better reasons. 

On these grounds an encounter with duelling-swords was arranged oneearly morning in a convenient field. At the third set-to Lieut. D'Hubertfound himself lying on his back on the dewy grass with a hole in hisside. A serene sun rising over a landscape of meadows and woods hung onhis left. A surgeon--not the flute player, but another--was bending overhim, feeling around the wound. 

"Narrow squeak. But it will be nothing, " he pronounced. 

Lieut. D'Hubert heard these words with pleasure. One of his seconds, sitting on the wet grass, and sustaining his head on his lap, said, "Thefortune of war, mon pauvre vieux. What will you have? You had bettermake it up like two good fellows. Do!"

"You don't know what you ask, " murmured Lieut. D'Hubert, in a feeblevoice. "However, if he . . . "

In another part of the meadow the seconds of Lieut. Feraud were urginghim to go over and shake hands with his adversary. 

"You have paid him off now--que diable. It's the proper thing to do. This D'Hubert is a decent fellow. "

"I know the decency of these generals' pets, " muttered Lieut. Feraudthrough his teeth, and the sombre expression of his face discouragedfurther efforts at reconciliation. The seconds, bowing from a distance, took their men off the field. In the afternoon Lieut. D'Hubert, verypopular as a good comrade uniting great bravery with a frank and equabletemper, had many visitors. It was remarked that Lieut. Feraud did not, as is customary, show himself much abroad to receive the felicitationsof his friends. They would not have failed him, because he, too, wasliked for the exuberance of his southern nature and the simplicity ofhis character. In all the places where officers were in the habit ofassembling at the end of the day the duel of the morning was talked overfrom every point of view. Though Lieut. D'Hubert had got worsted thistime, his sword play was commended. No one could deny that it was veryclose, very scientific. It was even whispered that if he got touched itwas because he wished to spare his adversary. But by many the vigour anddash of Lieut. Feraud's attack were pronounced irresistible. 

The merits of the two officers as combatants were frankly discussed; buttheir attitude to each other after the duel was criticised lightly andwith caution. It was irreconcilable, and that was to be regretted. Butafter all they knew best what the care of their honour dictated. It wasnot a matter for their comrades to pry into over-much. As to the originof the quarrel, the general impression was that it dated from the timethey were holding garrison in Strasbourg. The musical surgeon shook hishead at that. It went much farther back, he thought. 

"Why, of course! You must know the whole story, " cried several voices, eager with curiosity. "What was it?"

He raised his eyes from his glass deliberately. "Even if I knew ever sowell, you can't expect me to tell you, since both the principals chooseto say nothing. "

He got up and went out, leaving the sense of mystery behind him. Hecould not stay any longer, because the witching hour of flute-playingwas drawing near. 

After he had gone a very young officer observed solemnly, "Obviously, his lips are sealed!"

Nobody questioned the high correctness of that remark. Somehow it addedto the impressiveness of the affair. Several older officers of bothregiments, prompted by nothing but sheer kindness and love of harmony, proposed to form a Court of Honour, to which the two young men wouldleave the task of their reconciliation. Unfortunately they began byapproaching Lieut. Feraud, on the assumption that, having just scoredheavily, he would be found placable and disposed to moderation. 

The reasoning was sound enough. Nevertheless, the move turned outunfortunate. In that relaxation of moral fibre, which is brought aboutby the ease of soothed vanity, Lieut. Feraud had condescended in thesecret of his heart to review the case, and even had come to doubt notthe justice of his cause, but the absolute sagacity of his conduct. Thisbeing so, he was disinclined to talk about it. The suggestion of theregimental wise men put him in a difficult position. He was disgusted atit, and this disgust, by a paradoxical logic, reawakened his animosityagainst Lieut. D'Hubert. Was he to be pestered with this fellow forever--the fellow who had an infernal knack of getting round peoplesomehow? And yet it was difficult to refuse point blank that mediationsanctioned by the code of honour. 

He met the difficulty by an attitude of grim reserve. He twisted hismoustache and used vague words. His case was perfectly clear. He wasnot ashamed to state it before a proper Court of Honour, neither was heafraid to defend it on the ground. He did not see any reason to jump atthe suggestion before ascertaining how his adversary was likely to takeit. 

Later in the day, his exasperation growing upon him, he was heard in apublic place saying sardonically, "that it would be the very luckiestthing for Lieut. D'Hubert, because the next time of meeting he need nothope to get off with the mere trifle of three weeks in bed. "

This boastful phrase might have been prompted by the most profoundMachiavellism. Southern natures often hide, under the outwardimpulsiveness of action and speech, a certain amount of astuteness. 

Lieut. Feraud, mistrusting the justice of men, by no means desireda Court of Honour; and the above words, according so well with histemperament, had also the merit of serving his turn. Whether meant so ornot, they found their way in less than four-and-twenty hours into Lieut. D'Hubert's bedroom. In consequence Lieut. D'Hubert, sitting proppedup with pillows, received the overtures made to him next day bythe statement that the affair was of a nature which could not beardiscussion. 

The pale face of the wounded officer, his weak voice which he had yet touse cautiously, and the courteous dignity of his tone had a great effecton his hearers. Reported outside all this did more for deepening themystery than the vapourings of Lieut. Feraud. This last was greatlyrelieved at the issue. He began to enjoy the state of general wonder, and was pleased to add to it by assuming an attitude of fiercediscretion. 

The colonel of Lieut. D'Hubert's regiment was a grey-haired, weather-beaten warrior, who took a simple view of his responsibilities. "I can't, " he said to himself, "let the best of my subalterns getdamaged like this for nothing. I must get to the bottom of this affairprivately. He must speak out if the devil were in it. The colonel shouldbe more than a father to these youngsters. " And indeed he loved all hismen with as much affection as a father of a large family can feelfor every individual member of it. If human beings by an oversight ofProvidence came into the world as mere civilians, they were born againinto a regiment as infants are born into a family, and it was thatmilitary birth alone which counted. 

At the sight of Lieut. D'Hubert standing before him very bleachedand hollow-eyed the heart of the old warrior felt a pang of genuinecompassion. All his affection for the regiment--that body of men whichhe held in his hand to launch forward and draw back, who ministered tohis pride and commanded all his thoughts--seemed centred for a moment onthe person of the most promising subaltern. He cleared his throat ina threatening manner, and frowned terribly. "You must understand, " hebegan, "that I don't care a rap for the life of a single man in theregiment. I would send the eight hundred and forty-three of you men andhorses galloping into the pit of perdition with no more compunction thanI would kill a fly!"

"Yes, Colonel. You would be riding at our head, " said Lieut. D'Hubertwith a wan smile. 

The colonel, who felt the need of being very diplomatic, fairly roaredat this. "I want you to know, Lieut. D'Hubert, that I could stand asideand see you all riding to Hades if need be. I am a man to do even thatif the good of the service and my duty to my country required it fromme. But that's unthinkable, so don't you even hint at such a thing. " Heglared awfully, but his tone softened. "There's some milk yet about thatmoustache of yours, my boy. You don't know what a man like me is capableof. I would hide behind a haystack if . . . Don't grin at me, sir! Howdare you? If this were not a private conversation I would . . . Lookhere! I am responsible for the proper expenditure of lives under mycommand for the glory of our country and the honour of the regiment. Doyou understand that? Well, then, what the devil do you mean by lettingyourself be spitted like this by that fellow of the 7th Hussars? It'ssimply disgraceful!"

Lieut. D'Hubert felt vexed beyond measure. His shoulders moved slightly. He made no other answer. He could not ignore his responsibility. 

The colonel veiled his glance and lowered his voice still more. "It'sdeplorable!" he murmured. And again he changed his tone. "Come!" he wenton, persuasively, but with that note of authority which dwells in thethroat of a good leader of men, "this affair must be settled. I desireto be told plainly what it is all about. I demand, as your best friend, to know. "

The compelling power of authority, the persuasive influence of kindness, affected powerfully a man just risen from a bed of sickness. Lieut. D'Hubert's hand, which grasped the knob of a stick, trembledslightly. But his northern temperament, sentimental yet cautious andclear-sighted, too, in its idealistic way, checked his impulse to make aclean breast of the whole deadly absurdity. According to the preceptof transcendental wisdom, he turned his tongue seven times in his mouthbefore he spoke. He made then only a speech of thanks. 

The colonel listened, interested at first, then looked mystified. Atlast he frowned. "You hesitate?--mille tonnerres! Haven't I told youthat I will condescend to argue with you--as a friend?"

"Yes, Colonel!" answered Lieut. D'Hubert, gently. "But I am afraidthat after you have heard me out as a friend you will take action as mysuperior officer. "

The attentive colonel snapped his jaws. "Well, what of that?" he said, frankly. "Is it so damnably disgraceful?"

"It is not, " negatived Lieut. D'Hubert, in a faint but firm voice. 

"Of course, I shall act for the good of the service. Nothing can preventme doing that. What do you think I want to be told for?"

"I know it is not from idle curiosity, " protested Lieut. D'Hubert. "Iknow you will act wisely. But what about the good fame of the regiment?"

"It cannot be affected by any youthful folly of a lieutenant, " said thecolonel, severely. 

"No. It cannot be. But it can be by evil tongues. It will be said thata lieutenant of the 4th Hussars, afraid of meeting his adversary, ishiding behind his colonel. And that would be worse than hiding behinda haystack--for the good of the service. I cannot afford to do that, Colonel. "

"Nobody would dare to say anything of the kind, " began the colonel veryfiercely, but ended the phrase on an uncertain note. The bravery ofLieut. D'Hubert was well known. But the colonel was well aware thatthe duelling courage, the single combat courage, is rightly or wronglysupposed to be courage of a special sort. And it was eminentlynecessary that an officer of his regiment should possess every kind ofcourage--and prove it, too. The colonel stuck out his lower lip, andlooked far away with a peculiar glazed stare. This was the expression ofhis perplexity--an expression practically unknown to his regiment; forperplexity is a sentiment which is incompatible with the rank of colonelof cavalry. The colonel himself was overcome by the unpleasantnovelty of the sensation. As he was not accustomed to think except onprofessional matters connected with the welfare of men and horses, andthe proper use thereof on the field of glory, his intellectual effortsdegenerated into mere mental repetitions of profane language. "Milletonnerres! . . . Sacre nom de nom . . . " he thought. 

Lieut. D'Hubert coughed painfully, and added in a weary voice: "Therewill be plenty of evil tongues to say that I've been cowed. And Iam sure you will not expect me to pass that over. I may find myselfsuddenly with a dozen duels on my hands instead of this one affair. "

The direct simplicity of this argument came home to the colonel'sunderstanding. He looked at his subordinate fixedly. "Sit down, Lieutenant!" he said, gruffly. "This is the very devil of a . . . Sitdown!"

"Mon Colonel, " D'Hubert began again, "I am not afraid of evil tongues. There's a way of silencing them. But there's my peace of mind, too. I wouldn't be able to shake off the notion that I've ruined a brotherofficer. Whatever action you take, it is bound to go farther. Theinquiry has been dropped--let it rest now. It would have been absolutelyfatal to Feraud. "

"Hey! What! Did he behave so badly?"

"Yes. It was pretty bad, " muttered Lieut. D'Hubert. Being still veryweak, he felt a disposition to cry. 

As the other man did not belong to his own regiment the colonel had nodifficulty in believing this. He began to pace up and down the room. Hewas a good chief, a man capable of discreet sympathy. But he was humanin other ways, too, and this became apparent because he was not capableof artifice. 

"The very devil, Lieutenant, " he blurted out, in the innocence of hisheart, "is that I have declared my intention to get to the bottom ofthis affair. And when a colonel says something . . . You see . . . "

Lieut. D'Hubert broke in earnestly: "Let me entreat you, Colonel, to besatisfied with taking my word of honour that I was put into a damnableposition where I had no option; I had no choice whatever, consistentwith my dignity as a man and an officer. . . . After all, Colonel, thisfact is the very bottom of this affair. Here you've got it. The rest ismere detail. . . . "

The colonel stopped short. The reputation of Lieut. D'Hubert for goodsense and good temper weighed in the balance. A cool head, a warm heart, open as the day. Always correct in his behaviour. One had to trust him. The colonel repressed manfully an immense curiosity. "H'm! You affirmthat as a man and an officer. . . . No option? Eh?"

"As an officer--an officer of the 4th Hussars, too, " insisted Lieut. D'Hubert, "I had not. And that is the bottom of the affair, Colonel. "

"Yes. But still I don't see why, to one's colonel. . . . A colonel is afather--que diable!"

Lieut. D'Hubert ought not to have been allowed out as yet. He wasbecoming aware of his physical insufficiency with humiliation anddespair. But the morbid obstinacy of an invalid possessed him, and atthe same time he felt with dismay his eyes filling with water. Thistrouble seemed too big to handle. A tear fell down the thin, pale cheekof Lieut. D'Hubert. 

The colonel turned his back on him hastily. You could have heard a pindrop. "This is some silly woman story--is it not?"

Saying these words the chief spun round to seize the truth, which isnot a beautiful shape living in a well, but a shy bird best caught bystratagem. This was the last move of the colonel's diplomacy. He saw thetruth shining unmistakably in the gesture of Lieut. D'Hubert raising hisweak arms and his eyes to heaven in supreme protest. 

"Not a woman affair--eh?" growled the colonel, staring hard. "I don'task you who or where. All I want to know is whether there is a woman init?"

Lieut. D'Hubert's arms dropped, and his weak voice was patheticallybroken. 

"Nothing of the kind, mon Colonel. "

"On your honour?" insisted the old warrior. 

"On my honour. "

"Very well, " said the colonel, thoughtfully, and bit his lip. Thearguments of Lieut. D'Hubert, helped by his liking for the man, hadconvinced him. On the other hand, it was highly improper that hisintervention, of which he had made no secret, should produce no visibleeffect. He kept Lieut. D'Hubert a few minutes longer, and dismissed himkindly. 

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

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

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

"It's no trifle, " added the colonel, oracularly. The other waited for along 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 challengefrom Feraud for the next twelve months. "

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

Before the end of the truce Lieut. D'Hubert got his troop. The promotionwas well earned, but somehow no one seemed to expect the event. WhenLieut. Feraud heard of it at a gathering of officers, he mutteredthrough his teeth, "Is that so?" At once he unhooked his sabre from apeg near the door, buckled it on carefully, and left the company withoutanother word. He walked home with measured steps, struck a light withhis flint and steel, and lit his tallow candle. Then snatching anunlucky glass tumbler off the mantelpiece he dashed it violently on thefloor. 

Now that D'Hubert was an officer of superior rank there could be noquestion of a duel. Neither of them could send or receive a challengewithout rendering himself amenable to a court-martial. It was not to bethought of. Lieut. Feraud, who for many days now had experienced noreal desire to meet Lieut. D'Hubert arms in hand, chafed again at thesystematic injustice of fate. "Does he think he will escape me in thatway?" he thought, indignantly. He saw in this promotion an intrigue, aconspiracy, a cowardly manoeuvre. That colonel knew what he was doing. He had hastened to recommend his favourite for a step. It was outrageousthat a man should be able to avoid the consequences of his acts in sucha dark and tortuous manner. 

Of a happy-go-lucky disposition, of a temperament more pugnacious thanmilitary, Lieut. Feraud had been content to give and receive blows forsheer love of armed strife, and without much thought of advancement; butnow an urgent desire to get on sprang up in his breast. This fighter byvocation resolved in his mind to seize showy occasions and to court thefavourable opinion of his chiefs like a mere worldling. He knew he wasas brave as any one, and never doubted his personal charm. Nevertheless, neither the bravery nor the charm seemed to work very swiftly. Lieut. Feraud's engaging, careless truculence of a beau sabreur underwent achange. He began to make bitter allusions to "clever fellows who stickat nothing to get on. " The army was full of them, he would say; you hadonly to look round. But all the time he had in view one person only, hisadversary, D'Hubert. Once he confided to an appreciative friend: "Yousee, I don't know how to fawn on the right sort of people. It isn't inmy character. "

He did not get his step till a week after Austerlitz. The Light Cavalryof the Grand Army had its hands very full of interesting work for alittle while. Directly the pressure of professional occupation had beeneased Captain Feraud took measures to arrange a meeting without loss oftime. "I know my bird, " he observed, grimly. "If I don't look sharp hewill take care to get himself promoted over the heads of a dozen bettermen than himself. He's got the knack for that sort of thing. "

This duel was fought in Silesia. If not fought to a finish, it was, atany rate, fought to a standstill. The weapon was the cavalry sabre, andthe skill, the science, the vigour, and the determination displayed bythe adversaries compelled the admiration of the beholders. It becamethe subject of talk on both shores of the Danube, and as far as thegarrisons of Gratz and Laybach. They crossed blades seven times. Bothhad many cuts which bled profusely. Both refused to have the combatstopped, time after time, with what appeared the most deadly animosity. This appearance was caused on the part of Captain D'Hubert by a rationaldesire to be done once for all with this worry; on the part of CaptainFeraud by a tremendous exaltation of his pugnacious instincts and theincitement of wounded vanity. At last, dishevelled, their shirts inrags, covered with gore and hardly able to stand, they were led awayforcibly by their marvelling and horrified seconds. Later on, besiegedby comrades avid of details, these gentlemen declared that they couldnot have allowed that sort of hacking to go on indefinitely. Askedwhether the quarrel was settled this time, they gave it out as theirconviction that it was a difference which could only be settled by oneof the parties remaining lifeless on the ground. The sensation spreadfrom army corps to army corps, and penetrated at last to the smallestdetachments of the troops cantoned between the Rhine and the Save. Inthe cafes in Vienna it was generally estimated, from details to hand, that the adversaries would be able to meet again in three weeks' timeon the outside. Something really transcendent in the way of duelling wasexpected. 

These expectations were brought to naught by the necessities of theservice which separated the two officers. No official notice had beentaken of their quarrel. It was now the property of the army, and notto be meddled with lightly. But the story of the duel, or rather theirduelling propensities, must have stood somewhat in the way of theiradvancement, because they were still captains when they came togetheragain during the war with Prussia. Detached north after Jena, withthe army commanded by Marshal Bernadotte, Prince of Ponte Corvo, theyentered Lubeck together. 

It was only after the occupation of that town that Captain Feraud foundleisure to consider his future conduct in view of the fact that CaptainD'Hubert had been given the position of third aide-de-camp to themarshal. He considered it a great part of a night, and in the morningsummoned two sympathetic friends. 

"I've been thinking it over calmly, " he said, gazing at them withblood-shot, tired eyes. "I see that I must get rid of that intriguingpersonage. Here he's managed to sneak on to the personal staff of themarshal. It's a direct provocation to me. I can't tolerate a situationin which I am exposed any day to receive an order through him. And Godknows what order, too! That sort of thing has happened once before--andthat's once too often. He understands this perfectly, never fear. Ican't tell you any more. Now you know what it is you have to do. "

This encounter took place outside the town of Lubeck, on very openground, selected with special care in deference to the general sentimentof the cavalry division belonging to the army corps, that this timethe two officers should meet on horseback. After all, this duel was acavalry affair, and to persist in fighting on foot would look like aslight on one's own arm of the service. The seconds, startled by theunusual nature of the suggestion, hastened to refer to their principals. Captain Feraud jumped at it with alacrity. For some obscure reason, depending, no doubt, on his psychology, he imagined himself invincibleon horseback. All alone within the four walls of his room he rubbed hishands and muttered triumphantly, "Aha! my pretty staff officer, I've gotyou now. "

Captain D'Hubert on his side, after staring hard for a considerabletime at his friends, shrugged his shoulders slightly. This affair hadhopelessly and unreasonably complicated his existence for him. Oneabsurdity more or less in the development did not matter--all absurditywas distasteful to him; but, urbane as ever, he produced a faintlyironical smile, and said in his calm voice, "It certainly will do awayto some extent with the monotony of the thing. "

When left alone, he sat down at a table and took his head into hishands. He had not spared himself of late and the marshal had beenworking all his aides-decamp particularly hard. The last three weeks ofcampaigning in horrible weather had affected his health. When over-tiredhe suffered from a stitch in his wounded side, and that uncomfortablesensation always depressed him. "It's that brute's doing, too, " hethought bitterly. 

The day before he had received a letter from home, announcing that hisonly sister was going to be married. He reflected that from the time shewas nineteen and he twenty-six, when he went away to garrison life inStrasbourg, he had had but two short glimpses of her. They had beengreat friends and confidants; and now she was going to be given away toa man whom he did not know--a very worthy fellow no doubt, but not halfgood enough for her. He would never see his old Leonie again. She hada capable little head, and plenty of tact; she would know how to managethe fellow, to be sure. He was easy in his mind about her happiness buthe felt ousted from the first place in her thoughts which had been hisever since the girl could speak. A melancholy regret of the days ofhis childhood settled upon Captain D'Hubert, third aide-de-camp to thePrince of Ponte Corvo. 

He threw aside the letter of congratulation he had begun to write as induty bound, but without enthusiasm. He took a fresh piece of paper, andtraced on it the words: "This is my last will and testament. " Looking atthese words he gave himself up to unpleasant reflection; a presentimentthat he would never see the scenes of his childhood weighed down theequable spirits of Captain D'Hubert. He jumped up, pushing his chairback, yawned elaborately in sign that he didn't care anything forpresentiments, and throwing himself on the bed went to sleep. During thenight he shivered from time to time without waking up. In the morning herode out of town between his two seconds, talking of indifferent things, and looking right and left with apparent detachment into the heavymorning mists shrouding the flat green fields bordered by hedges. Heleaped a ditch, and saw the forms of many mounted men moving in the fog. "We are to fight before a gallery, it seems, " he muttered to himself, bitterly. 

His seconds were rather concerned at the state of the atmosphere, butpresently a pale, sickly sun struggled out of the low vapours, andCaptain D'Hubert made out, in the distance, three horsemen riding alittle apart from the others. It was Captain Feraud and his seconds. Hedrew his sabre, and assured himself that it was properly fastened to hiswrist. And now the seconds, who had been standing in close group withthe heads of their horses together, separated at an easy canter, leavinga large, clear field between him and his adversary. Captain D'Hubertlooked at the pale sun, at the dismal fields, and the imbecility of theimpending fight filled him with desolation. From a distant part ofthe field a stentorian voice shouted commands at proper intervals: Aupas--Au trot--Charrrgez! . . . Presentiments of death don't come toa man for nothing, he thought at the very moment he put spurs to hishorse. 

And therefore he was more than surprised when, at the very first set-to, Captain Feraud laid himself open to a cut over the forehead, whichblinding him with blood, ended the combat almost before it had fairlybegun. It was impossible to go on. Captain D'Hubert, leaving his enemyswearing horribly and reeling in the saddle between his two appalledfriends, leaped the ditch again into the road and trotted home with histwo seconds, who seemed rather awestruck at the speedy issue of thatencounter. In the evening Captain D'Hubert finished the congratulatoryletter on his sister's marriage. 

He finished it late. It was a long letter. Captain D'Hubert gave reinsto his fancy. He told his sister that he would feel rather lonely afterthis great change in her life; but then the day would come for him, too, to get married. In fact, he was thinking already of the time when therewould be no one left to fight with in Europe and the epoch of wars wouldbe over. "I expect then, " he wrote, "to be within measurable distanceof a marshal's baton, and you will be an experienced married woman. Youshall look out a wife for me. I will be, probably, bald by then, and alittle blase. I shall require a young girl, pretty of course, and witha large fortune, which should help me to close my glorious career in thesplendour befitting my exalted rank. " He ended with the informationthat he had just given a lesson to a worrying, quarrelsome fellow whoimagined he had a grievance against him. "But if you, in the depths ofyour province, " he continued, "ever hear it said that your brother is ofa quarrelsome disposition, don't you believe it on any account. Thereis no saying what gossip from the army may reach your innocent ears. Whatever you hear you may rest assured that your ever-loving brother isnot a duellist. " Then Captain D'Hubert crumpled up the blank sheet ofpaper headed with the words "This is my last will and testament, " andthrew it in the fire with a great laugh at himself. He didn't carea snap for what that lunatic could do. He had suddenly acquired theconviction that his adversary was utterly powerless to affect his lifein any sort of way; except, perhaps, in the way of putting a specialexcitement into the delightful, gay intervals between the campaigns. 

From this on there were, however, to be no peaceful intervals in thecareer of Captain D'Hubert. He saw the fields of Eylau and Friedland, marched and countermarched in the snow, in the mud, in the dust ofPolish plains, picking up distinction and advancement on all the roadsof North-eastern Europe. Meantime, Captain Feraud, despatched southwardswith his regiment, made unsatisfactory war in Spain. It was only whenthe preparations for the Russian campaign began that he was orderednorth again. He left the country of mantillas and oranges withoutregret. 

The first signs of a not unbecoming baldness added to the lofty aspectof Colonel D'Hubert's forehead. This feature was no longer white andsmooth as in the days of his youth; the kindly open glance of his blueeyes had grown a little hard as if from much peering through the smokeof battles. The ebony crop on Colonel Feraud's head, coarse and crinklylike a cap of horsehair, showed many silver threads about the temples. Adetestable warfare of ambushes and inglorious surprises had not improvedhis temper. The beak-like curve of his nose was unpleasantly set offby a deep fold on each side of his mouth. The round orbits of his eyesradiated wrinkles. More than ever he recalled an irritable and staringbird--something like a cross between a parrot and an owl. He was stillextremely outspoken in his dislike of "intriguing fellows. " He seizedevery opportunity to state that he did not pick up his rank in theante-rooms of marshals. The unlucky persons, civil or military, who, with an intention of being pleasant, begged Colonel Feraud to tell themhow he came by that very apparent scar on the forehead, were astonishedto find themselves snubbed in various ways, some of which were simplyrude and others mysteriously sardonic. Young officers were warned kindlyby their more experienced comrades not to stare openly at the colonel'sscar. But indeed an officer need have been very young in his professionnot to have heard the legendary tale of that duel originating in amysterious, unforgivable offence. 

III

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

In that battalion promoted colonels did duty as sergeants; the generalscaptained the companies; a marshal of France, Prince of the Empire, commanded the whole. All had provided themselves with muskets pickedup on the road, and with cartridges taken from the dead. In the generaldestruction of the bonds of discipline and duty holding together thecompanies, the battalions, the regiments, the brigades, and divisionsof an armed host, this body of men put its pride in preserving somesemblance of order and formation. The only stragglers were those whofell out to give up to the frost their exhausted souls. They ploddedon, and their passage did not disturb the mortal silence of the plains, shining with the livid light of snows under a sky the colour ofashes. Whirlwinds ran along the fields, broke against the dark column, enveloped it in a turmoil of flying icicles, and subsided, disclosing itcreeping on its tragic way without the swing and rhythm of the militarypace. It struggled onwards, the men exchanging neither words nor looks;whole ranks marched touching elbow, day after day and never raisingtheir eyes from the ground, as if lost in despairing reflections. In thedumb, black forests of pines the cracking of overloaded branches was theonly sound they heard. Often from daybreak to dusk no one spoke in thewhole column. It was like a macabre march of struggling corpses towardsa distant grave. Only an alarm of Cossacks could restore to their eyes asemblance of martial resolution. The battalion faced about and deployed, or formed square under the endless fluttering of snowflakes. A cloud ofhorsemen with fur caps on their heads, levelled long lances, and yelled"Hurrah! Hurrah!" around their menacing immobility whence, with muffleddetonations, hundreds of dark red flames darted through the air thickwith falling snow. In a very few moments the horsemen would disappear, as if carried off yelling in the gale, and the sacred battalion standingstill, alone in the blizzard, heard only the howling of the wind, whoseblasts searched their very hearts. Then, with a cry or two of "Vivel'Empereur!" it would resume its march, leaving behind a few lifelessbodies lying huddled up, tiny black specks on the white immensity of thesnows. 

Though often marching in the ranks, or skirmishing in the woods sideby side, the two officers ignored each other; this not so much frominimical intention as from a very real indifference. All their store ofmoral energy was expended in resisting the terrific enmity of nature andthe crushing sense of irretrievable disaster. To the last they countedamong the most active, the least demoralized of the battalion; theirvigorous vitality invested them both with the appearance of an heroicpair in the eyes of their comrades. And they never exchanged more thana casual word or two, except one day, when skirmishing in front of thebattalion against a worrying attack of cavalry, they found themselvescut off in the woods by a small party of Cossacks. A score offur-capped, hairy horsemen rode to and fro, brandishing their lancesin ominous silence; but the two officers had no mind to lay down theirarms, and Colonel Feraud suddenly spoke up in a hoarse, growling voice, bringing his firelock to the shoulder. "You take the nearest brute, Colonel D'Hubert; I'll settle the next one. I am a better shot than youare. "

Colonel D'Hubert nodded over his levelled musket. Their shoulders werepressed against the trunk of a large tree; on their front enormoussnowdrifts protected them from a direct charge. Two carefully aimedshots rang out in the frosty air, two Cossacks reeled in their saddles. The rest, not thinking the game good enough, closed round their woundedcomrades and galloped away out of range. The two officers managed torejoin their battalion halted for the night. During that afternoon theyhad leaned upon each other more than once, and towards the end, ColonelD'Hubert, whose long legs gave him an advantage in walking throughsoft snow, peremptorily took the musket of Colonel Feraud from him andcarried it on his shoulder, using his own as a staff. 

On the outskirts of a village half buried in the snow an old woodenbarn burned with a clear and an immense flame. The sacred battalionof skeletons, muffled in rags, crowded greedily the windward side, stretching hundreds of numbed, bony hands to the blaze. Nobody hadnoted their approach. Before entering the circle of light playing on thesunken, glassy-eyed, starved faces, Colonel D'Hubert spoke in his turn:

"Here's your musket, Colonel Feraud. I can walk better than you. "

Colonel Feraud nodded, and pushed on towards the warmth of the fierceflames. Colonel D'Hubert was more deliberate, but not the less bent ongetting a place in the front rank. Those they shouldered aside triedto greet with a faint cheer the reappearance of the two indomitablecompanions in activity and endurance. Those manly qualities had neverperhaps received a higher tribute than this feeble acclamation. 

This is the faithful record of speeches exchanged during the retreatfrom Moscow by Colonels Feraud and D'Hubert. Colonel Feraud'staciturnity was the outcome of concentrated rage. Short, hairy, blackfaced, with layers of grime and the thick sprouting of a wiry beard, a frost-bitten hand wrapped up in filthy rags carried in a sling, heaccused fate of unparalleled perfidy towards the sublime Man of Destiny. Colonel D'Hubert, his long moustaches pendent in icicles on each side ofhis cracked blue lips, his eyelids inflamed with the glare of snows, theprincipal part of his costume consisting of a sheepskin coat lootedwith difficulty from the frozen corpse of a camp follower found in anabandoned cart, took a more thoughtful view of events. His regularlyhandsome features, now reduced to mere bony lines and fleshless hollows, looked out of a woman's black velvet hood, over which was rammedforcibly a cocked hat picked up under the wheels of an empty armyfourgon, which must have contained at one time some general officer'sluggage. The sheepskin coat being short for a man of his inches endedvery high up, and the skin of his legs, blue with the cold, showedthrough the tatters of his nether garments. This under the circumstancesprovoked neither jeers nor pity. No one cared how the next man felt orlooked. Colonel D'Hubert himself, hardened to exposure, suffered mainlyin his self-respect from the lamentable indecency of his costume. Athoughtless person may think that with a whole host of inanimate bodiesbestrewing the path of retreat there could not have been much difficultyin supplying the deficiency. But to loot a pair of breeches from afrozen corpse is not so easy as it may appear to a mere theorist. Itrequires time and labour. You must remain behind while your companionsmarch on. Colonel D'Hubert had his scruples as to falling out. Once hehad stepped aside he could not be sure of ever rejoining his battalion;and the ghastly intimacy of a wrestling match with the frozen deadopposing the unyielding rigidity of iron to your violence was repugnantto the delicacy of his feelings. Luckily, one day, grubbing in a moundof snow between the huts of a village in the hope of finding there afrozen potato or some vegetable garbage he could put between his longand shaky teeth, Colonel D'Hubert uncovered a couple of mats of thesort Russian peasants use to line the sides of their carts with. These, beaten free of frozen snow, bent about his elegant person and fastenedsolidly round his waist, made a bell-shaped nether garment, a sort ofstiff petticoat, which rendered Colonel D'Hubert a perfectly decent, buta much more noticeable figure than before. 

Thus accoutred, he continued to retreat, never doubting of his personalescape, but full of other misgivings. The early buoyancy of his beliefin the future was destroyed. If the road of glory led through suchunforeseen passages, he asked himself--for he was reflective--whetherthe guide was altogether trustworthy. It was a patriotic sadness, notunmingled with some personal concern, and quite unlike the unreasoningindignation against men and things nursed by Colonel Feraud. Recruitinghis strength in a little German town for three weeks, Colonel D'Hubertwas surprised to discover within himself a love of repose. His returningvigour was strangely pacific in its aspirations. He meditated silentlyupon this bizarre change of mood. No doubt many of his brother officersof field rank went through the same moral experience. But these werenot the times to talk of it. In one of his letters home Colonel D'Hubertwrote, "All your plans, my dear Leonie, for marrying me to the charminggirl you have discovered in your neighbourhood, seem farther off thanever. Peace is not yet. Europe wants another lesson. It will be a hardtask for us, but it shall be done, because the Emperor is invincible. "

Thus wrote Colonel D 'Hubert from Pomerania to his married sisterLeonie, settled in the south of France. And so far the sentimentsexpressed would not have been disowned by Colonel Feraud, who wroteno letters to anybody, whose father had been in life an illiterateblacksmith, who had no sister or brother, and whom no one desiredardently to pair off for a life of peace with a charming young girl. But Colonel D 'Hubert's letter contained also some philosophicalgeneralities upon the uncertainty of all personal hopes, when bound upentirely with the prestigious fortune of one incomparably great it istrue, yet still remaining but a man in his greatness. This view wouldhave appeared rank heresy to Colonel Feraud. Some melancholy forebodingsof a military kind, expressed cautiously, would have been pronounced asnothing short of high treason by Colonel Feraud. But Leonie, the sisterof Colonel D'Hubert, read them with profound satisfaction, and, foldingthe letter thoughtfully, remarked to herself that "Armand was likely toprove eventually a sensible fellow. " Since her marriage into a Southernfamily she had become a convinced believer in the return of thelegitimate king. Hopeful and anxious she offered prayers night andmorning, and burnt candles in churches for the safety and prosperity ofher brother. 

She had every reason to suppose that her prayers were heard. ColonelD'Hubert passed through Lutzen, Bautzen, and Leipsic losing no limb, andacquiring additional reputation. Adapting his conduct to the needs ofthat desperate time, he had never voiced his misgivings. He concealedthem under a cheerful courtesy of such pleasant character that peoplewere inclined to ask themselves with wonder whether Colonel D'Hubertwas aware of any disasters. Not only his manners, but even his glancesremained untroubled. The steady amenity of his blue eyes disconcertedall grumblers, and made despair itself pause. 

This bearing was remarked favourably by the Emperor himself; for ColonelD'Hubert, attached now to the Major-General's staff, came on severaloccasions under the imperial eye. But it exasperated the higher strungnature of Colonel Feraud. Passing through Magdeburg on service, this last allowed himself, while seated gloomily at dinner with theCommandant de Place, to say of his life-long adversary: "This man doesnot love the Emperor, " and his words were received by the other guestsin profound silence. Colonel Feraud, troubled in his conscience atthe atrocity of the aspersion, felt the need to back it up by a goodargument. "I ought to know him, " he cried, adding some oaths. "Onestudies one's adversary. I have met him on the ground half a dozentimes, as all the army knows. What more do you want? If that isn'topportunity enough for any fool to size up his man, may the devil takeme if I can tell what is. " And he looked around the table, obstinate andsombre. 

Later on in Paris, while extremely busy reorganizing his regiment, Colonel Feraud learned that Colonel D'Hubert had been made a general. Heglared at his informant incredulously, then folded his arms and turnedaway muttering, "Nothing surprises me on the part of that man. "

And aloud he added, speaking over his shoulder, "You would oblige megreatly by telling General D'Hubert at the first opportunity that hisadvancement saves him for a time from a pretty hot encounter. I was onlywaiting for him to turn up here. "

The other officer remonstrated. 

"Could you think of it, Colonel Feraud, at this time, when every lifeshould be consecrated to the glory and safety of France?"

But the strain of unhappiness caused by military reverses had spoiledColonel Feraud's character. Like many other men, he was rendered wickedby misfortune. 

"I cannot consider General D'Hubert's existence of any account eitherfor the glory or safety of France, " he snapped viciously. "You don'tpretend, perhaps, to know him better than I do--I who have met him halfa dozen times on the ground--do you?"

His interlocutor, a young man, was silenced. Colonel Feraud walked upand down the room. 

"This is not the time to mince matters, " he said. "I can't believe thatthat man ever loved the Emperor. He picked up his general's stars underthe boots of Marshal Berthier. Very well. I'll get mine in anotherfashion, and then we shall settle this business which has been draggingon too long. "

General D'Hubert, informed indirectly of Colonel Feraud's attitude, madea gesture as if to put aside an importunate person. His thoughts weresolicited by graver cares. He had had no time to go and see his family. His sister, whose royalist hopes were rising higher every day, thoughproud of her brother, regretted his recent advancement in a measure, because it put on him a prominent mark of the usurper's favour, whichlater on could have an adverse influence upon his career. He wroteto her that no one but an inveterate enemy could say he had got hispromotion by favour. As to his career, he assured her that he looked nofarther forward into the future than the next battlefield. 

Beginning the campaign of France in this dogged spirit, General D'Hubertwas wounded on the second day of the battle under Laon. While beingcarried off the field he heard that Colonel Feraud, promoted this momentto general, had been sent to replace him at the head of his brigade. He cursed his luck impulsively, not being able at the first glance todiscern all the advantages of a nasty wound. And yet it was by thisheroic method that Providence was shaping his future. Travelling slowlysouth to his sister's country home under the care of a trusty oldservant, General D'Hubert was spared the humiliating contacts and theperplexities of conduct which assailed the men of Napoleonic empire atthe moment of its downfall. Lying in his bed, with the windows of hisroom open wide to the sunshine of Provence, he perceived the undisguisedaspect of the blessing conveyed by that jagged fragment of a Prussianshell, which, killing his horse and ripping open his thigh, saved himfrom an active conflict with his conscience. After the last fourteenyears spent sword in hand in the saddle, and with the sense of his dutydone to the very end, General D'Hubert found resignation an easy virtue. His sister was delighted with his reasonableness. "I leave myselfaltogether in your hands, my dear Leonie, " he had said to her. 

He was still laid up when, the credit of his brother-in-law's familybeing exerted on his behalf, he received from the royal government notonly the confirmation of his rank, but the assurance of being retainedon the active list. To this was added an unlimited convalescent leave. The unfavourable opinion entertained of him in Bonapartist circles, though it rested on nothing more solid than the unsupportedpronouncement of General Feraud, was directly responsible for GeneralD'Hubert's retention on the active list. As to General Feraud, his rankwas confirmed, too. It was more than he dared to expect; but MarshalSoult, then Minister of War to the restored king, was partial toofficers who had served in Spain. Only not even the marshal's protectioncould secure for him active employment. He remained irreconcilable, idle, and sinister. He sought in obscure restaurants the company ofother half-pay officers who cherished dingy but glorious old tricolourcockades in their breast-pockets, and buttoned with the forbidden eaglebuttons their shabby uniforms, declaring themselves too poor to affordthe expense of the prescribed change. 

The triumphant return from Elba, an historical fact as marvellous andincredible as the exploits of some mythological demi-god, found GeneralD'Hubert still quite unable to sit a horse. Neither could he walk verywell. These disabilities, which Madame Leonie accounted most lucky, helped to keep her brother out of all possible mischief. His frameof mind at that time, she noted with dismay, became very far fromreasonable. This general officer, still menaced by the loss of a limb, was discovered one night in the stables of the chateau by a groom, who, seeing a light, raised an alarm of thieves. His crutch was lyinghalf-buried in the straw of the litter, and the general was hopping onone leg in a loose box around a snorting horse he was trying to saddle. Such were the effects of imperial magic upon a calm temperament anda pondered mind. Beset in the light of stable lanterns, by the tears, entreaties, indignation, remonstrances and reproaches of his family, hegot out of the difficult situation by fainting away there and then inthe arms of his nearest relatives, and was carried off to bed. Before hegot out of it again, the second reign of Napoleon, the Hundred Days offeverish agitation and supreme effort, passed away like a terrifyingdream. The tragic year 1815, begun in the trouble and unrest ofconsciences, was ending in vengeful proscriptions. 

How General Feraud escaped the clutches of the Special Commission andthe last offices of a firing squad he never knew himself. It was partlydue to the subordinate position he was assigned during the Hundred Days. The Emperor had never given him active command, but had kept him busyat the cavalry depot in Paris, mounting and despatching hastily drilledtroopers into the field. Considering this task as unworthy of hisabilities, he had discharged it with no offensively noticeable zeal; butfor the greater part he was saved from the excesses of Royalist reactionby the interference of General D'Hubert. 

This last, still on convalescent leave, but able now to travel, had beendespatched by his sister to Paris to present himself to his legitimatesovereign. As no one in the capital could possibly know anything of theepisode in the stable he was received there with distinction. Militaryto the very bottom of his soul, the prospect of rising in his professionconsoled him from finding himself the butt of Bonapartist malevolence, which pursued him with a persistence he could not account for. All therancour of that embittered and persecuted party pointed to him as theman who had never loved the Emperor--a sort of monster essentially worsethan a mere betrayer. 

General D'Hubert shrugged his shoulders without anger at this ferociousprejudice. Rejected by his old friends, and mistrusting profoundly theadvances of Royalist society, the young and handsome general (he wasbarely forty) adopted a manner of cold, punctilious courtesy, whichat the merest shadow of an intended slight passed easily into harshhaughtiness. Thus prepared, General D'Hubert went about his affairs inParis feeling inwardly very happy with the peculiar uplifting happinessof a man very much in love. The charming girl looked out by his sisterhad come upon the scene, and had conquered him in the thorough mannerin which a young girl by merely existing in his sight can make a man offorty her own. They were going to be married as soon as General D'Huberthad obtained his official nomination to a promised command. 

One afternoon, sitting on the terrasse of the Cafe Tortoni, GeneralD'Hubert learned from the conversation of two strangers occupyinga table near his own, that General Feraud, included in the batch ofsuperior officers arrested after the second return of the king, was indanger of passing before the Special Commission. Living all his sparemoments, as is frequently the case with expectant lovers, a day inadvance of reality, and in a state of bestarred hallucination, itrequired nothing less than the name of his perpetual antagonistpronounced in a loud voice to call the youngest of Napoleon's generalsaway from the mental contemplation of his betrothed. He looked round. The strangers wore civilian clothes. Lean and weather-beaten, lollingback in their chairs, they scowled at people with moody and defiantabstraction from under their hats pulled low over their eyes. It was notdifficult to recognize them for two of the compulsorily retired officersof the Old Guard. As from bravado or carelessness they chose to speak inloud tones, General D'Hubert, who saw no reason why he should change hisseat, heard every word. They did not seem to be the personal friends ofGeneral Feraud. His name came up amongst others. Hearing it repeated, General D'Hubert's tender anticipations of a domestic future adornedwith a woman's grace were traversed by the harsh regret of his warlikepast, of that one long, intoxicating clash of arms, unique in themagnitude of its glory and disaster--the marvellous work and the specialpossession of his own generation. He felt an irrational tendernesstowards his old adversary and appreciated emotionally the murderousabsurdity their encounter had introduced into his life. It was like anadditional pinch of spice in a hot dish. He remembered the flavour withsudden melancholy. He would never taste it again. It was all over. "Ifancy it was being left lying in the garden that had exasperated him soagainst me from the first, " he thought, indulgently. 

The two strangers at the next table had fallen silent after the thirdmention of General Feraud's name. Presently the elder of the two, speaking again in a bitter tone, affirmed that General Feraud's accountwas settled. And why? Simply because he was not like some bigwigs wholoved only themselves. The Royalists knew they could never make anythingof him. He loved The Other too well. 

The Other was the Man of St. Helena. The two officers nodded and touchedglasses before they drank to an impossible return. Then the same whohad spoken before, remarked with a sardonic laugh, "His adversary showedmore cleverness. "

"What adversary?" asked the younger, as if puzzled. 

"Don't you know? They were two hussars. At each promotion they fought aduel. Haven't you heard of the duel going on ever since 1801?"

The other had heard of the duel, of course. Now he understood theallusion. General Baron D'Hubert would be able now to enjoy his fatking's favour in peace. 

"Much good may it do to him, " mumbled the elder. "They were both bravemen. I never saw this D'Hubert--a sort of intriguing dandy, I am told. But I can well believe what I've heard Feraud say of him--that he neverloved the Emperor. "

They rose and went away. 

General D'Hubert experienced the horror of a somnambulist who wakesup from a complacent dream of activity to find himself walking on aquagmire. A profound disgust of the ground on which he was making hisway overcame him. Even the image of the charming girl was swept fromhis view in the flood of moral distress. Everything he had ever beenor hoped to be would taste of bitter ignominy unless he could manage tosave General Feraud from the fate which threatened so many braves. Underthe impulse of this almost morbid need to attend to the safety of hisadversary, General D'Hubert worked so well with hands and feet (as theFrench saying is), that in less than twenty-four hours he found means ofobtaining an extraordinary private audience from the Minister of Police. 

General Baron D'Hubert was shown in suddenly without preliminaries. Inthe dusk of the Minister's cabinet, behind the forms of writing-desk, chairs, and tables, between two bunches of wax candles blazing insconces, he beheld a figure in a gorgeous coat posturing before a tallmirror. The old conventionnel Fouche, Senator of the Empire, traitorto every man, to every principle and motive of human conduct. Duke ofOtranto, and the wily artizan of the second Restoration, was tryingthe fit of a court suit in which his young and accomplished fiancee haddeclared her intention to have his portrait painted on porcelain. It wasa caprice, a charming fancy which the first Minister of Police of thesecond Restoration was anxious to gratify. For that man, often comparedin wiliness of conduct to a fox, but whose ethical side could beworthily symbolized by nothing less emphatic than a skunk, was as muchpossessed by his love as General D'Hubert himself. 

Startled to be discovered thus by the blunder of a servant, he met thislittle vexation with the characteristic impudence which had servedhis turn so well in the endless intrigues of his self-seeking career. Without altering his attitude a hair's-breadth, one leg in a silkstocking advanced, his head twisted over his left shoulder, hecalled out calmly, "This way, General. Pray approach. Well? I am allattention. "

While General D'Hubert, ill at ease as if one of his own littleweaknesses had been exposed, presented his request as shortly aspossible, the Duke of Otranto went on feeling the fit of his collar, settling the lapels before the glass, and buckling his back in an effortto behold the set of the gold embroidered coat-skirts behind. His stillface, his attentive eyes, could not have expressed a more completeinterest in those matters if he had been alone. 

"Exclude from the operations of the Special Court a certain Feraud, Gabriel Florian, General of brigade of the promotion of 1814?" herepeated, in a slightly wondering tone, and then turned away from theglass. "Why exclude him precisely?"

"I am surprised that your Excellency, so competent in the evaluation ofmen of his time, should have thought worth while to have that name putdown on the list. "

"A rabid Bonapartist!"

"So is every grenadier and every trooper of the army, as your Excellencywell knows. And the individuality of General Feraud can have no moreweight than that of any casual grenadier. He is a man of no mentalgrasp, of no capacity whatever. It is inconceivable that he should everhave any influence. "

"He has a well-hung tongue, though, " interjected Fouche. 

"Noisy, I admit, but not dangerous. "

"I will not dispute with you. I know next to nothing of him. Hardly hisname, in fact. "

"And yet your Excellency has the presidency of the Commission chargedby the king to point out those who were to be tried, " said GeneralD'Hubert, with an emphasis which did not miss the minister's ear. 

"Yes, General, " he said, walking away into the dark part of the vastroom, and throwing himself into a deep armchair that swallowed him up, all but the soft gleam of gold embroideries and the pallid patch of theface--"yes, General. Take this chair there. "

General D'Hubert sat down. 

"Yes, General, " continued the arch-master in the arts of intrigueand betrayals, whose duplicity, as if at times intolerable to hisself-knowledge, found relief in bursts of cynical openness. "I didhurry on the formation of the proscribing Commission, and I took itspresidency. And do you know why? Simply from fear that if I did nottake it quickly into my hands my own name would head the list of theproscribed. Such are the times in which we live. But I am minister ofthe king yet, and I ask you plainly why I should take the name of thisobscure Feraud off the list? You wonder how his name got there! Is itpossible that you should know men so little? My dear General, at thevery first sitting of the Commission names poured on us like rain offthe roof of the Tuileries. Names! We had our choice of thousands. How doyou know that the name of this Feraud, whose life or death don't matterto France, does not keep out some other name?"

The voice out of the armchair stopped. Opposite General D'Hubert satstill, shadowy and silent. Only his sabre clinked slightly. The voice inthe armchair began again. "And we must try to satisfy the exigenciesof the Allied Sovereigns, too. The Prince de Talleyrand told me onlyyesterday that Nesselrode had informed him officially of His Majesty theEmperor Alexander's dissatisfaction at the small number of examples theGovernment of the king intends to make--especially amongst military men. I tell you this confidentially. "

"Upon my word!" broke out General D'Hubert, speaking through his teeth, "if your Excellency deigns to favour me with any more confidentialinformation I don't know what I will do. It's enough to break one'ssword over one's knee, and fling the pieces. . . . "

"What government you imagined yourself to be serving?" interrupted theminister, sharply. 

After a short pause the crestfallen voice of General D'Hubert answered, "The Government of France. "

"That's paying your conscience off with mere words, General. The truthis that you are serving a government of returned exiles, of men who havebeen without country for twenty years. Of men also who have just gotover a very bad and humiliating fright. . . . Have no illusions on thatscore. "

The Duke of Otranto ceased. He had relieved himself, and had attainedhis object of stripping some self-respect off that man who hadinconveniently discovered him posturing in a gold-embroidered courtcostume before a mirror. But they were a hot-headed lot in the army; itoccurred to him that it would be inconvenient if a well-disposed generalofficer, received in audience on the recommendation of one of thePrinces, were to do something rashly scandalous directly after a privateinterview with the minister. In a changed tone he put a question to thepoint: "Your relation--this Feraud?"

"No. No relation at all. "

"Intimate friend?"

"Intimate . . . Yes. There is between us an intimate connection of anature which makes it a point of honour with me to try . . . "

The minister rang a bell without waiting for the end of the phrase. When the servant had gone out, after bringing in a pair of heavy silvercandelabra for the writing-desk, the Duke of Otranto rose, his breastglistening all over with gold in the strong light, and taking a piece ofpaper out of a drawer, held it in his hand ostentatiously while he saidwith persuasive gentleness: "You must not speak of breaking your swordacross your knee, General. Perhaps you would never get another. TheEmperor will not return this time. . . . Diable d'homme! There was justa moment, here in Paris, soon after Waterloo, when he frightened me. It looked as though he were ready to begin all over again. Luckily onenever does begin all over again, really. You must not think of breakingyour sword, General. "

General D'Hubert, looking on the ground, moved slightly his hand in ahopeless gesture of renunciation. The Minister of Police turned his eyesaway from him, and scanned deliberately the paper he had been holding upall the time. 

"There are only twenty general officers selected to be made an exampleof. Twenty. A round number. And let's see, Feraud. . . . Ah, he's there. Gabriel Florian. Parfaitement. That's your man. Well, there will be onlynineteen examples made now. "

General D'Hubert stood up feeling as though he had gone through aninfectious illness. "I must beg your Excellency to keep my interferencea profound secret. I attach the greatest importance to his neverlearning . . . "

"Who is going to inform him, I should like to know?" said Fouche, raising his eyes curiously to General D'Hubert's tense, set face. "Takeone of these pens, and run it through the name yourself. This is theonly list in existence. If you are careful to take up enough ink no onewill be able to tell what was the name struck out. But, par exemple, Iam not responsible for what Clarke will do with him afterwards. If hepersists in being rabid he will be ordered by the Minister of War toreside in some provincial town under the supervision of the police. "

A few days later General D'Hubert was saying to his sister, after thefirst greetings had been got over: "Ah, my dear Leonie! it seemed to meI couldn't get away from Paris quick enough. "

"Effect of love, " she suggested, with a malicious smile. 

"And horror, " added General D'Hubert, with profound seriousness. "I havenearly died there of . . . Of nausea. "

His face was contracted with disgust. And as his sister looked at himattentively he continued, "I have had to see Fouche. I have had anaudience. I have been in his cabinet. There remains with one, who hadthe misfortune to breathe the air of the same room with that man, asense of diminished dignity, an uneasy feeling of being not so clean, after all, as one hoped one was. . . . But you can't understand. "

She nodded quickly several times. She understood very well, on thecontrary. She knew her brother thoroughly, and liked him as he was. Moreover, the scorn and loathing of mankind were the lot of the JacobinFouche, who, exploiting for his own advantage every weakness, everyvirtue, every generous illusion of mankind, made dupes of his wholegeneration, and died obscurely as Duke of Otranto. 

"My dear Armand, " she said, compassionately, "what could you want fromthat man?"

"Nothing less than a life, " answered General D'Hubert. "And I've gotit. It had to be done. But I feel yet as if I could never forgive thenecessity to the man I had to save. "

General Feraud, totally unable (as is the case with most of us) tocomprehend what was happening to him, received the Minister of War'sorder to proceed at once to a small town of Central France with feelingswhose natural expression consisted in a fierce rolling of the eye andsavage grinding of the teeth. The passing away of the state of war, the only condition of society he had ever known, the horrible view of aworld at peace, frightened him. He went away to his little town firmlyconvinced that this could not last. There he was informed of hisretirement from the army, and that his pension (calculated on thescale of a colonel's rank) was made dependent on the correctness of hisconduct, and on the good reports of the police. No longer in the army!He felt suddenly strange to the earth, like a disembodied spirit. Itwas impossible to exist. But at first he reacted from sheer incredulity. This could not be. He waited for thunder, earthquakes, naturalcataclysms; but nothing happened. The leaden weight of an irremediableidleness descended upon General Feraud, who having no resources withinhimself sank into a state of awe-inspiring hebetude. He haunted thestreets of the little town, gazing before him with lacklustre eyes, disregarding the hats raised on his passage; and people, nudging eachother as he went by, whispered, "That's poor General Feraud. His heartis broken. Behold how he loved the Emperor. "

The other living wreckage of Napoleonic tempest clustered round GeneralFeraud with infinite respect. He, himself, imagined his soul to becrushed by grief. He suffered from quickly succeeding impulses to weep, to howl, to bite his fists till blood came, to spend days on his bedwith his head thrust under the pillow; but these arose from sheer ennui, from the anguish of an immense, indescribable, inconceivable boredom. His mental inability to grasp the hopeless nature of his case as a wholesaved him from suicide. He never even thought of it once. He thoughtof nothing. But his appetite abandoned him, and the difficulty heexperienced to express the overwhelming nature of his feelings (the mostfurious swearing could do no justice to it) induced gradually a habit ofsilence--a sort of death to a southern temperament. 

Great, therefore, was the sensation amongst the anciens militairesfrequenting a certain little cafe; full of flies when one stuffyafternoon "that poor General Feraud" let out suddenly a volley offormidable curses. 

He had been sitting quietly in his own privileged corner looking throughthe Paris gazettes with just as much interest as a condemned man on theeve of execution could be expected to show in the news of the day. "I'llfind out presently that I am alive yet, " he declared, in a dogmatictone. "However, this is a private affair. An old affair of honour. Bah!Our honour does not matter. Here we are driven off with a split ear likea lot of cast troop horses--good only for a knacker's yard. But itwould be like striking a blow for the Emperor. . . . Messieurs, I shallrequire the assistance of two of you. "

Every man moved forward. General Feraud, deeply touched by thisdemonstration, called with visible emotion upon the one-eyed veterancuirassier and the officer of the Chasseurs a Cheval who had left thetip of his nose in Russia. He excused his choice to the others. 

"A cavalry affair this--you know. "

He was answered with a varied chorus of "Parfaitement, mon General. . . . C'est juste. . . . Parbleu, c'est connu. . . . " Everybody wassatisfied. The three left the cafe together, followed by cries of "Bonnechance. "

Outside they linked arms, the general in the middle. The three rustycocked hats worn en bataille with a sinister forward slant barred thenarrow street nearly right across. The overheated little town of greystones and red tiles was drowsing away its provincial afternoon undera blue sky. The loud blows of a cooper hooping a cask reverberatedregularly between the houses. The general dragged his left foot a littlein the shade of the walls. 

"This damned winter of 1813 has got into my bones for good. Nevermind. We must take pistols, that's all. A little lumbago. We must havepistols. He's game for my bag. My eyes are as keen as ever. You shouldhave seen me in Russia picking off the dodging Cossacks with a beastlyold infantry musket. I have a natural gift for firearms. "

In this strain General Feraud ran on, holding up his head, with owlisheyes and rapacious beak. A mere fighter all his life, a cavalry man, asabreur, he conceived war with the utmost simplicity, as, in the main, amassed lot of personal contests, a sort of gregarious duelling. And herehe had in hand a war of his own. He revived. The shadow of peacepassed away from him like the shadow of death. It was the marvellousresurrection of the named Feraud, Gabriel Florian, engage volontaireof 1793, General of 1814, buried without ceremony by means of a serviceorder signed by the War Minister of the Second Restoration. 

IV

No man succeeds in everything he undertakes. In that sense we are allfailures. The great point is not to fail in ordering and sustaining theeffort of our life. In this matter vanity is what leads us astray. Ithurries us into situations from which we must come out damaged; whereaspride is our safeguard, by the reserve it imposes on the choice of ourendeavour as much as by the virtue of its sustaining power. 

General D'Hubert was proud and reserved. He had not been damaged by hiscasual love affairs, successful or otherwise. In his war-scarred bodyhis heart at forty remained unscratched. Entering with reserve into hissister's matrimonial plans, he had felt himself falling irremediably inlove as one falls off a roof. He was too proud to be frightened. Indeed, the sensation was too delightful to be alarming. 

The inexperience of a man of forty is a much more serious thing thanthe inexperience of a youth of twenty, for it is not helped out by therashness of hot blood. The girl was mysterious, as young girls areby the mere effect of their guarded ingenuity; and to him themysteriousness of that young girl appeared exceptional and fascinating. But there was nothing mysterious about the arrangements of the matchwhich Madame Leonie had promoted. There was nothing peculiar, either. Itwas a very appropriate match, commending itself extremely to the younglady's mother (the father was dead) and tolerable to the young lady'suncle--an old emigre lately returned from Germany, and pervading, canein hand, a lean ghost of the ancien regime, the garden walks of theyoung lady's ancestral home. 

General D'Hubert was not the man to be satisfied merely with the womanand the fortune--when it came to the point. His pride (and pride aimsalways at true success) would be satisfied with nothing short of love. But as true pride excludes vanity, he could not imagine any reason whythis mysterious creature with deep and brilliant eyes of a violet colourshould have any feeling for him warmer than indifference. The young lady(her name was Adele) baffled every attempt at a clear understanding onthat point. It is true that the attempts were clumsy and made timidly, because by then General D'Hubert had become acutely aware of the numberof his years, of his wounds, of his many moral imperfections, of hissecret unworthiness--and had incidentally learned by experience themeaning of the word funk. As far as he could make out she seemed toimply that, with an unbounded confidence in her mother's affection andsagacity, she felt no unsurmountable dislike for the person of GeneralD'Hubert; and that this was quite sufficient for a well-brought-up younglady to begin married life upon. This view hurt and tormented the prideof General D'Hubert. And yet he asked himself, with a sort of sweetdespair, what more could he expect? She had a quiet and luminousforehead. Her violet eyes laughed while the lines of her lips and chinremained composed in admirable gravity. All this was set off by sucha glorious mass of fair hair, by a complexion so marvellous, by sucha grace of expression, that General D'Hubert really never found theopportunity to examine with sufficient detachment the lofty exigenciesof his pride. In fact, he became shy of that line of inquiry since ithad led once or twice to a crisis of solitary passion in which it wasborne upon him that he loved her enough to kill her rather than loseher. From such passages, not unknown to men of forty, he would come outbroken, exhausted, remorseful, a little dismayed. He derived, however, considerable comfort from the quietist practice of sitting now and thenhalf the night by an open window and meditating upon the wonder ofher existence, like a believer lost in the mystic contemplation of hisfaith. 

It must not be supposed that all these variations of his inward statewere made manifest to the world. General D 'Hubert found no difficultyin appearing wreathed in smiles. Because, in fact, he was very happy. He followed the established rules of his condition, sending over flowers(from his sister's garden and hot-houses) early every morning, and alittle later following himself to lunch with his intended, her mother, and her emigre uncle. The middle of the day was spent in strolling orsitting in the shade. A watchful deference, trembling on the verge oftenderness was the note of their intercourse on his side--with a playfulturn of the phrase concealing the profound trouble of his whole beingcaused by her inaccessible nearness. Late in the afternoon General D'Hubert walked home between the fields of vines, sometimes intenselymiserable, sometimes supremely happy, sometimes pensively sad; butalways feeling a special intensity of existence, that elation common toartists, poets, and lovers--to men haunted by a great passion, a noblethought, or a new vision of plastic beauty. 

The outward world at that time did not exist with any specialdistinctness for General D'Hubert. One evening, however, crossing aridge from which he could see both houses, General D'Hubert became awareof two figures far down the road. The day had been divine. The festaldecoration of the inflamed sky lent a gentle glow to the sober tintsof the southern land. The grey rocks, the brown fields, the purple, undulating distances harmonized in luminous accord, exhaled alreadythe scents of the evening. The two figures down the road presentedthemselves like two rigid and wooden silhouettes all black on the ribbonof white dust. General D'Hubert made out the long, straight, militarycapotes buttoned closely right up to the black stocks, the cocked hats, the lean, carven, brown countenances--old soldiers--vieilles moustaches!The taller of the two had a black patch over one eye; the other's hard, dry countenance presented some bizarre, disquieting peculiarity, whichon nearer approach proved to be the absence of the tip of the nose. Lifting their hands with one movement to salute the slightly lamecivilian walking with a thick stick, they inquired for the house wherethe General Baron D'Hubert lived, and what was the best way to getspeech with him quietly. 

"If you think this quiet enough, " said General D'Hubert, looking roundat the vine-fields, framed in purple lines, and dominated by the nest ofgrey and drab walls of a village clustering around the top of a conicalhill, so that the blunt church tower seemed but the shape of a crowningrock--"if you think this spot quiet enough, you can speak to himat once. And I beg you, comrades, to speak openly, with perfectconfidence. "

They stepped back at this, and raised again their hands to theirhats with marked ceremoniousness. Then the one with the chipped nose, speaking for both, remarked that the matter was confidential enough, andto be arranged discreetly. Their general quarters were established inthat village over there, where the infernal clodhoppers--damn theirfalse, Royalist hearts!--looked remarkably cross-eyed at threeunassuming military men. For the present he should only ask for the nameof General D'Hubert's friends. 

"What friends?" said the astonished General D'Hubert, completely off thetrack. "I am staying with my brother-in-law over there. "

"Well, he will do for one, " said the chipped veteran. 

"We're the friends of General Feraud, " interjected the other, who hadkept silent till then, only glowering with his one eye at the man whohad never loved the Emperor. That was something to look at. For eventhe gold-laced Judases who had sold him to the English, the marshalsand princes, had loved him at some time or other. But this man had neverloved the Emperor. General Feraud had said so distinctly. 

General D'Hubert felt an inward blow in his chest. For an infinitesimalfraction of a second it was as if the spinning of the earth had becomeperceptible with an awful, slight rustle in the eternal stillnessof space. But this noise of blood in his ears passed off at once. Involuntarily he murmured, "Feraud! I had forgotten his existence. "

"He's existing at present, very uncomfortably, it is true, in theinfamous inn of that nest of savages up there, " said the one-eyedcuirassier, drily. "We arrived in your parts an hour ago on post horses. He's awaiting our return with impatience. There is hurry, you know. The General has broken the ministerial order to obtain from you thesatisfaction he's entitled to by the laws of honour, and naturally he'sanxious to have it all over before the gendarmerie gets on his scent. "

The other elucidated the idea a little further. "Get back on thequiet--you understand? Phitt! No one the wiser. We have broken out, too. Your friend the king would be glad to cut off our scurvy pittances atthe first chance. It's a risk. But honour before everything. "

General D'Hubert had recovered his powers of speech. "So you come herelike this along the road to invite me to a throat-cutting match withthat--that . . . " A laughing sort of rage took possession of him. "Ha!ha! ha! ha!"

His fists on his hips, he roared without restraint, while they stoodbefore him lank and straight, as though they had been shot up with asnap through a trap door in the ground. Only four-and-twenty months agothe masters of Europe, they had already the air of antique ghosts, they seemed less substantial in their faded coats than their ownnarrow shadows falling so black across the white road: the militaryand grotesque shadows of twenty years of war and conquests. They had anoutlandish appearance of two imperturbable bonzes of the religion ofthe sword. And General D'Hubert, also one of the ex-masters of Europe, laughed at these serious phantoms standing in his way. 

Said one, indicating the laughing General with a jerk of the head: "Amerry companion, that. "

"There are some of us that haven't smiled from the day The Other wentaway, " remarked his comrade. 

A violent impulse to set upon and beat those unsubstantial wraiths tothe ground frightened General D'Hubert. He ceased laughing suddenly. His desire now was to get rid of them, to get them away from his sightquickly before he lost control of himself. He wondered at the furyhe felt rising in his breast. But he had no time to look into thatpeculiarity just then. 

"I understand your wish to be done with me as quickly as possible. Don'tlet us waste time in empty ceremonies. Do you see that wood there at thefoot of that slope? Yes, the wood of pines. Let us meet there to-morrowat sunrise. I will bring with me my sword or my pistols, or both if youlike. "

The seconds of General Feraud looked at each other. 

"Pistols, General, " said the cuirassier. 

"So be it. Au revoir--to-morrow morning. Till then let me advise you tokeep close if you don't want the gendarmerie making inquiries about youbefore it gets dark. Strangers are rare in this part of the country. "

They saluted in silence. General D'Hubert, turning his back on theirretreating forms, stood still in the middle of the road for a long time, biting his lower lip and looking on the ground. Then he began to walkstraight before him, thus retracing his steps till he found himselfbefore the park gate of his intended's house. Dusk had fallen. Motionless he stared through the bars at the front of the house, gleaming clear beyond the thickets and trees. Footsteps scrunched onthe gravel, and presently a tall stooping shape emerged from the lateralalley following the inner side of the park wall. 

Le Chevalier de Valmassigue, uncle of the adorable Adele, ex-brigadierin the army of the Princes, bookbinder in Altona, afterwards shoemaker(with a great reputation for elegance in the fit of ladies' shoes) inanother small German town, wore silk stockings on his lean shanks, lowshoes with silver buckles, a brocaded waistcoat. A long-skirted coat, a la francaise, covered loosely his thin, bowed back. A smallthree-cornered hat rested on a lot of powdered hair, tied in a queue. 

"Monsieur le Chevalier, " called General D'Hubert, softly. 

"What? You here again, mon ami? Have you forgotten something?"

"By heavens! that's just it. I have forgotten something. I am come totell you of it. No--outside. Behind this wall. It's too ghastly a thingto be let in at all where she lives. "

The Chevalier came out at once with that benevolent resignation someold people display towards the fugue of youth. Older by a quarter of acentury than General D'Hubert, he looked upon him in the secret ofhis heart as a rather troublesome youngster in love. He had heard hisenigmatical words very well, but attached no undue importance to what amere man of forty so hard hit was likely to do or say. The turn of mindof the generation of Frenchmen grown up during the years of his exilewas almost unintelligible to him. Their sentiments appeared to himunduly violent, lacking fineness and measure, their language needlesslyexaggerated. He joined calmly the General on the road, and they made afew steps in silence, the General trying to master his agitation, andget proper control of his voice. 

"It is perfectly true; I forgot something. I forgot till half an hourago that I had an urgent affair of honour on my hands. It's incredible, but it is so!"

All was still for a moment. Then in the profound evening silence of thecountryside the clear, aged voice of the Chevalier was heard tremblingslightly: "Monsieur! That's an indignity. "

It was his first thought. The girl born during his exile, the posthumousdaughter of his poor brother murdered by a band of Jacobins, had grownsince his return very dear to his old heart, which had been starving onmere memories of affection for so many years. "It is an inconceivablething, I say! A man settles such affairs before he thinks of asking fora young girl's hand. Why! If you had forgotten for ten days longer, youwould have been married before your memory returned to you. In my timemen did not forget such things--nor yet what is due to the feelingsof an innocent young woman. If I did not respect them myself, I wouldqualify your conduct in a way which you would not like. "

General D'Hubert relieved himself frankly by a groan. "Don't let thatconsideration prevent you. You run no risk of offending her mortally. "

But the old man paid no attention to this lover's nonsense. It'sdoubtful whether he even heard. "What is it?" he asked. "What's thenature of . . . ?" "Call it a youthful folly, Monsieur le Chevalier. Aninconceivable, incredible result of . . . " He stopped short. "He willnever believe the story, " he thought. "He will only think I am takinghim for a fool, and get offended. " General D'Hubert spoke up again:"Yes, originating in youthful folly, it has become . . . "

The Chevalier interrupted: "Well, then it must be arranged. "

"Arranged?"

"Yes, no matter at what cost to your amour propre. You should haveremembered you were engaged. You forgot that, too, I suppose. And thenyou go and forget your quarrel. It's the most hopeless exhibition oflevity I ever heard of. "

"Good heavens, Monsieur! You don't imagine I have been picking up thisquarrel last time I was in Paris, or anything of the sort, do you?"

"Eh! What matters the precise date of your insane conduct, " exclaimedthe Chevalier, testily. "The principal thing is to arrange it. "

Noticing General D'Hubert getting restive and trying to place a word, the old emigre raised his hand, and added with dignity, "I've been asoldier, too. I would never dare suggest a doubtful step to the manwhose name my niece is to bear. I tell you that entre galants hommes anaffair can always be arranged. "

"But saperiotte, Monsieur le Chevalier, it's fifteen or sixteen yearsago. I was a lieutenant of hussars then. "

The old Chevalier seemed confounded by the vehemently despairing tone ofthis information. "You were a lieutenant of hussars sixteen years ago, "he mumbled in a dazed manner. 

"Why, yes! You did not suppose I was made a general in my cradle like aroyal prince. "

In the deepening purple twilight of the fields spread with vine leaves, backed by a low band of sombre crimson in the west, the voice of the oldex-officer in the army of the Princes sounded collected, punctiliouslycivil. 

"Do I dream? Is this a pleasantry? Or am I to understand that you havebeen hatching an affair of honour for sixteen years?"

"It has clung to me for that length of time. That is my precise meaning. The quarrel itself is not to be explained easily. We met on the groundseveral times during that time, of course. "

"What manners! What horrible perversion of manliness! Nothing canaccount for such inhumanity but the sanguinary madness of the Revolutionwhich has tainted a whole generation, " mused the returned emigre in alow tone. "Who's your adversary?" he asked a little louder. 

"My adversary? His name is Feraud. "

Shadowy in his tricorne and old-fashioned clothes, like a bowed, thinghost of the ancien regime, the Chevalier voiced a ghostly memory. "Ican remember the feud about little Sophie Derval, between Monsieur deBrissac, Captain in the Bodyguards, and d'Anjorrant (not the pock-markedone, the other--the Beau d'Anjorrant, as they called him). They metthree times in eighteen months in a most gallant manner. It was thefault of that little Sophie, too, who would keep on playing . . . "

"This is nothing of the kind, " interrupted General D'Hubert. He laugheda little sardonically. "Not at all so simple, " he added. "Nor yet halfso reasonable, " he finished, inaudibly, between his teeth, and groundthem with rage. 

After this sound nothing troubled the silence for a long time, till theChevalier asked, without animation: "What is he--this Feraud?"

"Lieutenant of hussars, too--I mean, he's a general. A Gascon. Son of ablacksmith, I believe. "

"There! I thought so. That Bonaparte had a special predilection for thecanaille. I don't mean this for you, D'Hubert. You are one of us, thoughyou 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. Offspringof a blacksmith and some village troll. See what comes of mixingyourself 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, MonsieurD'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 giveit to them, " retorted the emigre, with the rising animation of a man whohas got hold of a hopeful argument. "Those people don't exist--all theseFerauds. Feraud! What is Feraud? A va-nu-pieds disguised into a generalby a Corsican adventurer masquerading as an emperor. There is no earthlyreason for a D'Hubert to s'encanailler by a duel with a person of thatsort. You can make your excuses to him perfectly well. And if the mananttakes 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 youremigration?"

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

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

"Yes, it is a changed France, " said General D'Hubert. He seemed to haveregained his calm. His tone was slightly ironic. "Therefore I cannottake your advice. Besides, how is one to refuse to be bitten by a dogthat means to bite? It's impracticable. Take my word for it--Feraudisn't a man to be stayed by apologies or refusals. But there areother ways. I could, for instance, send a messenger with a word tothe brigadier of the gendarmerie in Senlac. He and his two friends areliable to arrest on my simple order. It would make some talk in thearmy, both the organized and the disbanded--especially the disbanded. All canaille! All once upon a time the companions in arms of ArmandD'Hubert. But what need a D'Hubert care what people that don't exist maythink? Or, better still, I might get my brother-in-law to send for themayor of the village and give him a hint. No more would be needed to getthe three 'brigands' set upon with flails and pitchforks and hunted intosome nice, deep, wet ditch--and nobody the wiser! It has been done onlyten miles from here to three poor devils of the disbanded Red Lancersof the Guard going to their homes. What says your conscience, Chevalier?Can a D'Hubert do that thing to three men who do not exist?"

A few stars had come out on the blue obscurity, clear as crystal, of thesky. The dry, thin voice of the Chevalier spoke harshly: "Why are youtelling me all this?"

The General seized the withered old hand with a strong grip. "BecauseI owe you my fullest confidence. Who could tell Adele but you? Youunderstand why I dare not trust my brother-in-law nor yet my own sister. Chevalier! I have been so near doing these things that I tremble yet. You don't know how terrible this duel appears to me. And there's noescape from it. "

He murmured after a pause, "It's a fatality, " dropped the Chevalier'spassive hand, and said in his ordinary conversational voice, "I shallhave to go without seconds. If it is my lot to remain on the ground, youat least will know all that can be made known of this affair. "

The shadowy ghost of the ancien regime seemed to have become more bowedduring the conversation. "How am I to keep an indifferent face thisevening before these two women?" he groaned. "General! I find it verydifficult to forgive you. "

General D 'Hubert made no answer. 

"Is your cause good, at least?"

"I am innocent. "

This time he seized the Chevalier's ghostly arm above the elbow, andgave it a mighty squeeze. "I must kill him!" he hissed, and opening hishand strode away down the road. 

The delicate attentions of his adoring sister had secured for theGeneral perfect liberty of movement in the house where he was a guest. He had even his own entrance through a small door in one corner ofthe orangery. Thus he was not exposed that evening to the necessityof dissembling his agitation before the calm ignorance of the otherinmates. He was glad of it. It seemed to him that if he had to open hislips he would break out into horrible and aimless imprecations, startbreaking furniture, smashing china and glass. From the moment he openedthe private door and while ascending the twenty-eight steps of a windingstaircase, giving access to the corridor on which his room opened, hewent through a horrible and humiliating scene in which an infuriatedmadman with blood-shot eyes and a foaming mouth played inconceivablehavoc with everything inanimate that may be found in a well-appointeddining-room. When he opened the door of his apartment the fit was over, and his bodily fatigue was so great that he had to catch at the backsof the chairs while crossing the room to reach a low and broad divanon which he let himself fall heavily. His moral prostration was stillgreater. That brutality of feeling which he had known only whencharging the enemy, sabre in hand, amazed this man of forty, who did notrecognize in it the instinctive fury of his menaced passion. But inhis mental and bodily exhaustion this passion got cleared, distilled, refined into a sentiment of melancholy despair at having, perhaps, todie before he had taught this beautiful girl to love him. 

That night, General D'Hubert stretched out on his back with his handsover his eyes, or lying on his breast with his face buried in acushion, made the full pilgrimage of emotions. Nauseating disgust atthe absurdity of the situation, doubt of his own fitness to conduct hisexistence, and mistrust of his best sentiments (for what the devil didhe want to go to Fouche for?)--he knew them all in turn. "I am anidiot, neither more nor less, " he thought--"A sensitive idiot. BecauseI overheard two men talking in a cafe. . . . I am an idiot afraid oflies--whereas in life it is only truth that matters. "

Several times he got up and, walking in his socks in order not to beheard by anybody downstairs, drank all the water he could find in thedark. And he tasted the torments of jealousy, too. She would marrysomebody else. His very soul writhed. The tenacity of that Feraud, the awful persistence of that imbecile brute, came to him with thetremendous force of a relentless destiny. General D'Hubert trembled ashe put down the empty water ewer. "He will have me, " he thought. GeneralD'Hubert was tasting every emotion that life has to give. He had inhis dry mouth the faint sickly flavour of fear, not the excusable fearbefore a young girl's candid and amused glance, but the fear of deathand the honourable man's fear of cowardice. 

But if true courage consists in going out to meet an odious danger fromwhich our body, soul, and heart recoil together, General D'Hubert hadthe opportunity to practise it for the first time in his life. He hadcharged exultingly at batteries and at infantry squares, and ridden withmessages through a hail of bullets without thinking anything aboutit. His business now was to sneak out unheard, at break of day, toan obscure and revolting death. General D'Hubert never hesitated. Hecarried two pistols in a leather bag which he slung over his shoulder. Before he had crossed the garden his mouth was dry again. He picked twooranges. It was only after shutting the gate after him that he felt aslight faintness. 

He staggered on, disregarding it, and after going a few yards regainedthe command of his legs. In the colourless and pellucid dawn the woodof pines detached its columns of trunks and its dark green canopy veryclearly against the rocks of the grey hillside. He kept his eyes fixedon it steadily, and sucked at an orange as he walked. That temperamentalgood-humoured coolness in the face of danger which had made him anofficer liked by his men and appreciated by his superiors was graduallyasserting itself. It was like going into battle. Arriving at the edge ofthe wood he sat down on a boulder, holding the other orange in his hand, and reproached himself for coming so ridiculously early on the ground. Before very long, however, he heard the swishing of bushes, footstepson the hard ground, and the sounds of a disjointed, loud conversation. Avoice somewhere behind him said boastfully, "He's game for my bag. "

He thought to himself, "Here they are. What's this about game? Are theytalking of me?" And becoming aware of the other orange in his hand, hethought further, "These are very good oranges. Leonie's own tree. I mayjust as well eat this orange now instead of flinging it away. "

Emerging from a wilderness of rocks and bushes, General Feraud and hisseconds discovered General D'Hubert engaged in peeling the orange. Theystood still, waiting till he looked up. Then the seconds raised theirhats, while General Feraud, putting his hands behind his back, walkedaside a little way. 

"I am compelled to ask one of you, messieurs, to act for me. I havebrought no friends. Will you?"

The one-eyed cuirassier said judicially, "That cannot be refused. "

The other veteran remarked, "It's awkward all the same. "

"Owing to the state of the people's minds in this part of the countrythere was no one I could trust safely with the object of your presencehere, " explained General D'Hubert, urbanely. 

They saluted, looked round, and remarked both together:

"Poor ground. "

"It's unfit. "

"Why bother about ground, measurements, and so on? Let us simplifymatters. Load the two pairs of pistols. I will take those of GeneralFeraud, and let him take mine. Or, better still, let us take a mixedpair. One of each pair. Then let us go into the wood and shoot at sight, while you remain outside. We did not come here for ceremonies, but forwar--war to the death. Any ground is good enough for that. If I fall, you must leave me where I lie and clear out. It wouldn't be healthy foryou to be found hanging about here after that. "

It appeared after a short parley that General Feraud was willing toaccept these conditions. While the seconds were loading the pistols, he could be heard whistling, and was seen to rub his hands with perfectcontentment. He flung off his coat briskly, and General D 'Hubert tookoff his own and folded it carefully on a stone. 

"Suppose you take your principal to the other side of the wood and lethim enter exactly in ten minutes from now, " suggested General D'Hubert, calmly, but feeling as if he were giving directions for his ownexecution. This, however, was his last moment of weakness. "Wait. Let uscompare watches first. "

He pulled out his own. The officer with the chipped nose went over toborrow the watch of General Feraud. They bent their heads over them fora time. 

"That's it. At four minutes to six by yours. Seven to by mine. "

It was the cuirassier who remained by the side of General D'Hubert, keeping his one eye fixed immovably on the white face of the watch heheld in the palm of his hand. He opened his mouth, waiting for the beatof the last second long before he snapped out the word, "Avancez. "

General D'Hubert moved on, passing from the glaring sunshine of theProvencal morning into the cool and aromatic shade of the pines. Theground was clear between the reddish trunks, whose multitude, leaning atslightly different angles, confused his eye at first. It was like goinginto battle. The commanding quality of confidence in himself woke up inhis breast. He was all to his affair. The problem was how to kill theadversary. Nothing short of that would free him from this imbecilenightmare. "It's no use wounding that brute, " thought General D'Hubert. He was known as a resourceful officer. His comrades years ago used alsoto call him The Strategist. And it was a fact that he could think inthe presence of the enemy. Whereas Feraud had been always a merefighter--but a dead shot, unluckily. 

"I must draw his fire at the greatest possible range, " said GeneralD'Hubert to himself. 

At that moment he saw something white moving far off between thetrees--the shirt of his adversary. He stepped out at once between thetrunks, exposing himself freely; then, quick as lightning, leapedback. It had been a risky move but it succeeded in its object. Almostsimultaneously with the pop of a shot a small piece of bark chipped offby the bullet stung his ear painfully. 

General Feraud, with one shot expended, was getting cautious. Peepinground the tree, General D'Hubert could not see him at all. Thisignorance of the foe's whereabouts carried with it a sense ofinsecurity. General D'Hubert felt himself abominably exposed on hisflank and rear. Again something white fluttered in his sight. Ha! Theenemy was still on his front, then. He had feared a turning movement. But apparently General Feraud was not thinking of it. General D'Hubertsaw him pass without special haste from one tree to another in thestraight line of approach. With great firmness of mind General D'Hubertstayed his hand. Too far yet. He knew he was no marksman. His must be awaiting game--to kill. 

Wishing to take advantage of the greater thickness of the trunk, he sankdown to the ground. Extended at full length, head on to his enemy, hehad his person completely protected. Exposing himself would not do now, because the other was too near by this time. A conviction that Feraudwould presently do something rash was like balm to General D'Hubert'ssoul. But to keep his chin raised off the ground was irksome, and notmuch use either. He peeped round, exposing a fraction of his head withdread, but really with little risk. His enemy, as a matter of fact, didnot expect to see anything of him so far down as that. General D'Hubertcaught a fleeting view of General Feraud shifting trees again withdeliberate caution. "He despises my shooting, " he thought, displayingthat insight into the mind of his antagonist which is of such great helpin winning battles. He was confirmed in his tactics of immobility. "IfI could only watch my rear as well as my front!" he thought anxiously, longing for the impossible. 

It required some force of character to lay his pistols down; but, on asudden impulse, General D'Hubert did this very gently--one on each sideof him. In the army he had been looked upon as a bit of a dandy becausehe used to shave and put on a clean shirt on the days of battle. Asa matter of fact, he had always been very careful of his personalappearance. In a man of nearly forty, in love with a young and charminggirl, this praiseworthy self-respect may run to such little weaknessesas, for instance, being provided with an elegant little leatherfolding-case containing a small ivory comb, and fitted with a piece oflooking-glass on the outside. General D'Hubert, his hands being free, felt in his breeches' pockets for that implement of innocent vanityexcusable in the possessor of long, silky moustaches. He drew it out, and then with the utmost coolness and promptitude turned himself overon his back. In this new attitude, his head a little raised, holding thelittle looking-glass just clear of his tree, he squinted into it withhis left eye, while the right kept a direct watch on the rear of hisposition. Thus was proved Napoleon's saying, that "for a French soldier, the word impossible does not exist. " He had the right tree nearlyfilling the field of his little mirror. 

"If he moves from behind it, " he reflected with satisfaction, "I ambound to see his legs. But in any case he can't come upon me unawares. "

And sure enough he saw the boots of General Feraud flash in and out, eclipsing for an instant everything else reflected in the little mirror. He shifted its position accordingly. But having to form his judgment ofthe change from that indirect view he did not realize that now his feetand a portion of his legs were in plain sight of General Feraud. 

General Feraud had been getting gradually impressed by the amazingcleverness with which his enemy was keeping cover. He had spotted theright tree with bloodthirsty precision. He was absolutely certain of it. And yet he had not been able to glimpse as much as the tip of an ear. Ashe had been looking for it at the height of about five feet ten inchesfrom the ground it was no great wonder--but it seemed very wonderful toGeneral Feraud. 

The first view of these feet and legs determined a rush of blood to hishead. He literally staggered behind his tree, and had to steady himselfagainst it with his hand. The other was lying on the ground, then! Onthe ground! Perfectly still, too! Exposed! What could it mean? . . . Thenotion that he had knocked over his adversary at the first shot enteredthen General Feraud's head. Once there it grew with every second ofattentive gazing, overshadowing every other supposition--irresistible, triumphant, ferocious. 

"What an ass I was to think I could have missed him, " he muttered tohimself. "He was exposed en plein--the fool!--for quite a couple ofseconds. "

General Feraud gazed at the motionless limbs, the last vestiges ofsurprise fading before an unbounded admiration of his own deadly skillwith the pistol. 

"Turned up his toes! By the god of war, that was a shot!" he exultedmentally. "Got it through the head, no doubt, just where I aimed, staggered behind that tree, rolled over on his back, and died. "

And he stared! He stared, forgetting to move, almost awed, almostsorry. But for nothing in the world would he have had it undone. Such ashot!--such a shot! Rolled over on his back and died!

For it was this helpless position, lying on the back, that shouted itsdirect evidence at General Feraud! It never occurred to him thatit might have been deliberately assumed by a living man. It wasinconceivable. It was beyond the range of sane supposition. There was nopossibility to guess the reason for it. And it must be said, too, thatGeneral D'Hubert's turned-up feet looked thoroughly dead. General Feraudexpanded his lungs for a stentorian shout to his seconds, but, from whathe felt to be an excessive scrupulousness, refrained for a while. 

"I will just go and see first whether he breathes yet, " he mumbledto himself, leaving carelessly the shelter of his tree. This move wasimmediately perceived by the resourceful General D'Hubert. He concludedit to be another shift, but when he lost the boots out of the field ofthe mirror he became uneasy. General Feraud had only stepped a littleout of the line, but his adversary could not possibly have supposed himwalking up with perfect unconcern. General D'Hubert, beginning to wonderat what had become of the other, was taken unawares so completely thatthe first warning of danger consisted in the long, early-morning shadowof his enemy falling aslant on his outstretched legs. He had not evenheard a footfall on the soft ground between the trees!

It was too much even for his coolness. He jumped up thoughtlessly, leaving the pistols on the ground. The irresistible instinct of anaverage man (unless totally paralyzed by discomfiture) would have beento stoop for his weapons, exposing himself to the risk of being shotdown in that position. Instinct, of course, is irreflective. It is itsvery definition. But it may be an inquiry worth pursuing whetherin reflective mankind the mechanical promptings of instinct are notaffected by the customary mode of thought. In his young days, ArmandD'Hubert, the reflective, promising officer, had emitted the opinionthat in warfare one should "never cast back on the lines of a mistake. "This idea, defended and developed in many discussions, had settled intoone of the stock notions of his brain, had become a part of his mentalindividuality. Whether it had gone so inconceivably deep as to affectthe dictates of his instinct, or simply because, as he himself declaredafterwards, he was "too scared to remember the confounded pistols, " thefact is that General D'Hubert never attempted to stoop for them. Insteadof going back on his mistake, he seized the rough trunk with both hands, and swung himself behind it with such impetuosity that, going rightround in the very flash and report of the pistol-shot, he reappeared onthe other side of the tree face to face with General Feraud. This last, completely unstrung by such a show of agility on the part of a dead man, was trembling yet. A very faint mist of smoke hung before his face whichhad an extraordinary aspect, as if the lower jaw had come unhinged. 

"Not missed!" he croaked, hoarsely, from the depths of a dry throat. 

This sinister sound loosened the spell that had fallen on GeneralD'Hubert's senses. "Yes, missed--a bout portant, " he heard himselfsaying, almost before he had recovered the full command of hisfaculties. The revulsion of feeling was accompanied by a gust ofhomicidal fury, resuming in its violence the accumulated resentment ofa lifetime. For years General D 'Hubert had been exasperated andhumiliated by an atrocious absurdity imposed upon him by this man'ssavage caprice. Besides, General D'Hubert had been in this last instancetoo unwilling to confront death for the reaction of his anguish not totake the shape of a desire to kill. "And I have my two shots to fireyet, " he added, pitilessly. 

General Feraud snapped-to his teeth, and his face assumed an irate, undaunted expression. "Go on!" he said, grimly. 

These would have been his last words if General D'Hubert had beenholding the pistols in his hands. But the pistols were lying on theground at the foot of a pine. General D'Hubert had the second of leisurenecessary to remember that he had dreaded death not as a man, but as alover; not as a danger, but as a rival; not as a foe to life, but as anobstacle to marriage. And behold! there was the rival defeated!--utterlydefeated, crushed, done for!

He picked up the weapons mechanically, and, instead of firing them intoGeneral Feraud's breast, he gave expression to the thoughts uppermost inhis mind, "You will fight no more duels now. "

His tone of leisurely, ineffable satisfaction was too much for GeneralFeraud's stoicism. "Don't dawdle, then, damn you for a cold-bloodedstaff-coxcomb!" he roared out, suddenly, out of an impassive face helderect on a rigidly still body. 

General D'Hubert uncocked the pistols carefully. This proceeding wasobserved with mixed feelings by the other general. "You missed metwice, " the victor said, coolly, shifting both pistols to one hand; "thelast time within a foot or so. By every rule of single combat your lifebelongs to me. That does not mean that I want to take it now. "

"I have no use for your forbearance, " muttered General Feraud, gloomily. 

"Allow me to point out that this is no concern of mine, " said GeneralD'Hubert, whose every word was dictated by a consummate delicacy offeeling. In anger he could have killed that man, but in cold blood herecoiled from humiliating by a show of generosity this unreasonablebeing--a fellow-soldier of the Grande Armee, a companion in the wondersand terrors of the great military epic. "You don't set up the pretensionof dictating to me what I am to do with what's my own. "

General Feraud looked startled, and the other continued, "You've forcedme on a point of honour to keep my life at your disposal, as it were, for fifteen years. Very well. Now that the matter is decided to myadvantage, I am going to do what I like with your life on the sameprinciple. You shall keep it at my disposal as long as I choose. Neithermore nor less. You are on your honour till I say the word. "

"I am! But, sacrebleu! This is an absurd position for a General of theEmpire to be placed in!" cried General Feraud, in accents of profoundand dismayed conviction. "It amounts to sitting all the rest of mylife with a loaded pistol in a drawer waiting for your word. It's--it'sidiotic; I shall be an object of--of--derision. "

"Absurd?--idiotic? Do you think so?" queried General D'Hubert with slygravity. "Perhaps. But I don't see how that can be helped. However, Iam not likely to talk at large of this adventure. Nobody need ever knowanything about it. Just as no one to this day, I believe, knows theorigin of our quarrel. . . . Not a word more, " he added, hastily. "I can't really discuss this question with a man who, as far as I amconcerned, does not exist. "

When the two duellists came out into the open, General Feraud walking alittle behind, and rather with the air of walking in a trance, the twoseconds hurried towards them, each from his station at the edge of thewood. General D'Hubert addressed them, speaking loud and distinctly, "Messieurs, I make it a point of declaring to you solemnly, in thepresence of General Feraud, that our difference is at last settled forgood. You may inform all the world of that fact. "

"A reconciliation, after all!" they exclaimed together. 

"Reconciliation? Not that exactly. It is something much more binding. Isit not so, General?"

General Feraud only lowered his head in sign of assent. The two veteranslooked at each other. Later in the day, when they found themselves aloneout of their moody friend's earshot, the cuirassier remarked suddenly, "Generally speaking, I can see with my one eye as far as most people;but this beats me. He won't say anything. "

"In this affair of honour I understand there has been from first to lastalways something that no one in the army could quite make out, " declaredthe chasseur with the imperfect nose. "In mystery it began, in mysteryit went on, in mystery it is to end, apparently. "

General D'Hubert walked home with long, hasty strides, by no meansuplifted by a sense of triumph. He had conquered, yet it did not seemto him that he had gained very much by his conquest. The night beforehe had grudged the risk of his life which appeared to him magnificent, worthy of preservation as an opportunity to win a girl's love. He hadknown moments when, by a marvellous illusion, this love seemed tobe already his, and his threatened life a still more magnificentopportunity of devotion. Now that his life was safe it had suddenly lostits special magnificence. It had acquired instead a specially alarmingaspect as a snare for the exposure of unworthiness. As to the marvellousillusion of conquered love that had visited him for a moment in theagitated watches of the night, which might have been his last on earth, he comprehended now its true nature. It had been merely a paroxysm ofdelirious conceit. Thus to this man, sobered by the victorious issueof a duel, life appeared robbed of its charm, simply because it was nolonger menaced. 

Approaching the house from the back, through the orchard and the kitchengarden, he could not notice the agitation which reigned in front. Henever met a single soul. Only while walking softly along the corridor, he became aware that the house was awake and more noisy than usual. Names of servants were being called out down below in a confused noiseof coming and going. With some concern he noticed that the door of hisown room stood ajar, though the shutters had not been opened yet. Hehad hoped that his early excursion would have passed unperceived. Heexpected to find some servant just gone in; but the sunshine filteringthrough the usual cracks enabled him to see lying on the low divansomething bulky, which had the appearance of two women clasped in eachother's arms. Tearful and desolate murmurs issued mysteriously from thatappearance. General D'Hubert pulled open the nearest pair of shuttersviolently. One of the women then jumped up. It was his sister. She stoodfor a moment with her hair hanging down and her arms raised straight upabove her head, and then flung herself with a stifled cry into his arms. He returned her embrace, trying at the same time to disengage himselffrom it. The other woman had not risen. She seemed, on the contrary, tocling closer to the divan, hiding her face in the cushions. Her hair wasalso loose; it was admirably fair. General D'Hubert recognized it withstaggering emotion. Mademoiselle de Valmassigue! Adele! In distress!

He became greatly alarmed, and got rid of his sister's hug definitely. Madame Leonie then extended her shapely bare arm out of her peignoir, pointing dramatically at the divan. "This poor, terrified child hasrushed here from home, on foot, two miles--running all the way. "

"What on earth has happened?" asked General D'Hubert in a low, agitatedvoice. 

But Madame Leonie was speaking loudly. "She rang the great bell atthe gate and roused all the household--we were all asleep yet. You mayimagine what a terrible shock. . . . Adele, my dear child, sit up. "

General D'Hubert's expression was not that of a man who "imagines" withfacility. He did, however, fish out of the chaos of surmises the notionthat his prospective mother-in-law had died suddenly, but only todismiss it at once. He could not conceive the nature of the event or thecatastrophe which would induce Mademoiselle de Valmassigue, living in ahouse full of servants, to bring the news over the fields herself, twomiles, running all the way. 

"But why are you in this room?" he whispered, full of awe. 

"Of course, I ran up to see, and this child . . . I did not notice it. . . She followed me. It's that absurd Chevalier, " went on MadameLeonie, looking towards the divan. . . . "Her hair is all come down. Youmay imagine she did not stop to call her maid to dress it before shestarted. . . Adele, my dear, sit up. . . . He blurted it all out to herat half-past five in the morning. She woke up early and opened hershutters to breathe the fresh air, and saw him sitting collapsed on agarden bench at the end of the great alley. At that hour--you mayimagine! And the evening before he had declared himself indisposed. Shehurried on some clothes and flew down to him. One would be anxious forless. He loves her, but not very intelligently. He had been up allnight, fully dressed, the poor old man, perfectly exhausted. He wasn'tin a state to invent a plausible story. . . . What a confidant you chosethere! My husband was furious. He said, 'We can't interfere now. ' So wesat down to wait. It was awful. And this poor child running with herhair loose over here publicly! She has been seen by some people in thefields. She has roused the whole household, too. It's awkward for her. Luckily you are to be married next week. . . . Adele, sit up. He hascome home on his own legs. . . . We expected to see you coming on astretcher, perhaps--what do I know? Go and see if the carriage is ready. I must take this child home at once. It isn't proper for her to stayhere a minute longer. "

General D'Hubert did not move. It was as though he had heard nothing. Madame Leonie changed her mind. "I will go and see myself, " she cried. "I want also my cloak. --Adele--" she began, but did not add "sit up. "She went out saying, in a very loud and cheerful tone: "I leave the dooropen. "

General D'Hubert made a movement towards the divan, but then Adelesat up, and that checked him dead. He thought, "I haven't washed thismorning. I must look like an old tramp. There's earth on the back of mycoat and pine-needles in my hair. " It occurred to him that the situationrequired a good deal of circumspection on his part. 

"I am greatly concerned, mademoiselle, " he began, vaguely, and abandonedthat line. She was sitting up on the divan with her cheeksunusually pink and her hair, brilliantly fair, falling all over hershoulders--which was a very novel sight to the general. He walked awayup the room, and looking out of the window for safety said, "I fear youmust think I behaved like a madman, " in accents of sincere despair. Thenhe spun round, and noticed that she had followed him with her eyes. Theywere not cast down on meeting his glance. And the expression of her facewas novel to him also. It was, one might have said, reversed. Those eyeslooked at him with grave thoughtfulness, while the exquisite lines ofher mouth seemed to suggest a restrained smile. This change made hertranscendental beauty much less mysterious, much more accessible to aman's comprehension. An amazing ease of mind came to the general--andeven some ease of manner. He walked down the room with as muchpleasurable excitement as he would have found in walking up to a batteryvomiting death, fire, and smoke; then stood looking down with smilingeyes at the girl whose marriage with him (next week) had been socarefully arranged by the wise, the good, the admirable Leonie. 

"Ah! mademoiselle, " he said, in a tone of courtly regret, "if only Icould be certain that you did not come here this morning, two miles, running all the way, merely from affection for your mother!"

He waited for an answer imperturbable but inwardly elated. It came in ademure murmur, eyelashes lowered with fascinating effect. "You must notbe mechant as well as mad. "

And then General D'Hubert made an aggressive movement towards the divanwhich nothing could check. That piece of furniture was not exactly inthe line of the open door. But Madame Leonie, coming back wrapped up ina light cloak and carrying a lace shawl on her arm for Adele to hide herincriminating hair under, had a swift impression of her brother gettingup from his knees. 

"Come along, my dear child, " she cried from the doorway. 

The general, now himself again in the fullest sense, showed thereadiness of a resourceful cavalry officer and the peremptoriness of aleader of men. "You don't expect her to walk to the carriage, " he said, indignantly. "She isn't fit. I shall carry her downstairs. "

This he did slowly, followed by his awed and respectful sister; but herushed back like a whirlwind to wash off all the signs of the night ofanguish and the morning of war, and to put on the festive garments of aconqueror before hurrying over to the other house. Had it not been forthat, General D 'Hubert felt capable of mounting a horse and pursuinghis late adversary in order simply to embrace him from excess ofhappiness. "I owe it all to this stupid brute, " he thought. "He has madeplain in a morning what might have taken me years to find out--for Iam a timid fool. No self-confidence whatever. Perfect coward. And theChevalier! Delightful old man!" General D'Hubert longed to embrace himalso. 

The Chevalier was in bed. For several days he was very unwell. The menof the Empire and the post-revolution young ladies were too much forhim. He got up the day before the wedding, and, being curious by nature, took his niece aside for a quiet talk. He advised her to find out fromher husband the true story of the affair of honour, whose claim, soimperative and so persistent, had led her to within an ace of tragedy. "It is right that his wife should be told. And next month or so will beyour time to learn from him anything you want to know, my dear child. "

Later on, when the married couple came on a visit to the mother of thebride, Madame la Generale D'Hubert communicated to her beloved old unclethe true story she had obtained without any difficulty from her husband. 

The Chevalier listened with deep attention to the end, took a pinchof snuff, flicked the grains of tobacco from the frilled front of hisshirt, and asked, calmly, "And that's all it was?"

"Yes, uncle, " replied Madame la Generale, opening her pretty eyes verywide. "Isn't it funny? C'est insense--to think what men are capable of!"

"H'm!" commented the old emigre. "It depends what sort of men. ThatBonaparte's soldiers were savages. It is insense. As a wife, my dear, you must believe implicitly what your husband says. "

But to Leonie's husband the Chevalier confided his true opinion. "If that's the tale the fellow made up for his wife, and during thehoneymoon, too, you may depend on it that no one will ever know now thesecret of this affair. "

Considerably later still, General D'Hubert judged the time come, and theopportunity propitious to write a letter to General Feraud. This letterbegan by disclaiming all animosity. "I've never, " wrote the GeneralBaron D'Hubert, "wished for your death during all the time of ourdeplorable quarrel. Allow me, " he continued, "to give you back inall form your forfeited life. It is proper that we two, who have beenpartners in so much military glory, should be friendly to each otherpublicly. "

The same letter contained also an item of domestic information. It wasin reference to this last that General Feraud answered from a littlevillage on the banks of the Garonne, in the following words:

"If one of your boy's names had been Napoleon--or Joseph--or evenJoachim, I could congratulate you on the event with a better heart. Asyou have thought proper to give him the names of Charles Henri Armand, I am confirmed in my conviction that you never loved the Emperor. Thethought of that sublime hero chained to a rock in the middle of a savageocean makes life of so little value that I would receive with positivejoy your instructions to blow my brains out. From suicide I considermyself in honour debarred. But I keep a loaded pistol in my drawer. "

Madame la Generale D'Hubert lifted up her hands in despair afterperusing that answer. 

"You see? He won't be reconciled, " said her husband. "He must never, byany chance, be allowed to guess where the money comes from. It wouldn'tdo. He couldn't bear it. "

"You are a brave homme, Armand, " said Madame la Generale, appreciatively. 

"My dear, I had the right to blow his brains out; but as I didn't, we can't let him starve. He has lost his pension and he is utterlyincapable of doing anything in the world for himself. We must takecare of him, secretly, to the end of his days. Don't I owe him themost ecstatic moment of my life? . . . Ha! ha! ha! Over the fields, twomiles, running all the way! I couldn't believe my ears! . . . But forhis stupid ferocity, it would have taken me years to find you out. It'sextraordinary how in one way or another this man has managed to fastenhimself on my deeper feelings. "

A PATHETIC TALE

IL CONDE

"Vedi Napoli e poi mori. "

The first time we got into conversation was in the National Museumin Naples, in the rooms on the ground floor containing the famouscollection of bronzes from Herculaneum and Pompeii: that marvellouslegacy of antique art whose delicate perfection has been preserved forus by the catastrophic fury of a volcano. 

He addressed me first, over the celebrated Resting Hermes which we hadbeen looking at side by side. He said the right things about that whollyadmirable piece. Nothing profound. His taste was natural rather thancultivated. He had obviously seen many fine things in his lifeand appreciated them: but he had no jargon of a dilettante or theconnoisseur. A hateful tribe. He spoke like a fairly intelligent man ofthe world, a perfectly unaffected gentleman. 

We had known each other by sight for some few days past. Staying in thesame hotel--good, but not extravagantly up to date--I had noticed himin the vestibule going in and out. I judged he was an old and valuedclient. The bow of the hotel-keeper was cordial in its deference, andhe acknowledged it with familiar courtesy. For the servants he was IlConde. There was some squabble over a man's parasol--yellow silk withwhite lining sort of thing--the waiters had discovered abandoned outsidethe dining-room door. Our gold-laced door-keeper recognized it and Iheard him directing one of the lift boys to run after Il Conde with it. Perhaps he was the only Count staying in the hotel, or perhaps he hadthe distinction of being the Count par excellence, conferred upon himbecause of his tried fidelity to the house. 

Having conversed at the Museo--(and by the by he had expressed hisdislike of the busts and statues of Roman emperors in the gallery ofmarbles: their faces were too vigorous, too pronounced for him)--havingconversed already in the morning I did not think I was intruding when inthe evening, finding the dining-room very full, I proposed to share hislittle table. Judging by the quiet urbanity of his consent he did notthink so either. His smile was very attractive. 

He dined in an evening waistcoat and a "smoking" (he called it so) witha black tie. All this of very good cut, not new--just as these thingsshould be. He was, morning or evening, very correct in his dress. I haveno doubt that his whole existence had been correct, well ordered andconventional, undisturbed by startling events. His white hair brushedupwards off a lofty forehead gave him the air of an idealist, of animaginative man. His white moustache, heavy but carefully trimmed andarranged, was not unpleasantly tinted a golden yellow in the middle. Thefaint scent of some very good perfume, and of good cigars (that lastan odour quite remarkable to come upon in Italy) reached me across thetable. It was in his eyes that his age showed most. They were a littleweary with creased eyelids. He must have been sixty or a couple of yearsmore. And he was communicative. I would not go so far as to call itgarrulous--but distinctly communicative. 

He had tried various climates, of Abbazia, of the Riviera, of otherplaces, too, he told me, but the only one which suited him was theclimate of the Gulf of Naples. The ancient Romans, who, he pointed outto me, were men expert in the art of living, knew very well what theywere doing when they built their villas on these shores, in Baiae, inVico, in Capri. They came down to this seaside in search of health, bringing with them their trains of mimes and flute-players to amusetheir leisure. He thought it extremely probable that the Romans ofthe higher classes were specially predisposed to painful rheumaticaffections. 

This was the only personal opinion I heard him express. It was basedon no special erudition. He knew no more of the Romans than an averageinformed man of the world is expected to know. He argued from personalexperience. He had suffered himself from a painful and dangerousrheumatic affection till he found relief in this particular spot ofSouthern Europe. 

This was three years ago, and ever since he had taken up his quarterson the shores of the gulf, either in one of the hotels in Sorrento orhiring a small villa in Capri. He had a piano, a few books: pickedup transient acquaintances of a day, week, or month in the stream oftravellers from all Europe. One can imagine him going out for hiswalks in the streets and lanes, becoming known to beggars, shopkeepers, children, country people; talking amiably over the walls to thecontadini--and coming back to his rooms or his villa to sit before thepiano, with his white hair brushed up and his thick orderly moustache, "to make a little music for myself. " And, of course, for a changethere was Naples near by--life, movement, animation, opera. A littleamusement, as he said, is necessary for health. Mimes and flute-players, in fact. Only unlike the magnates of ancient Rome, he had no affairsof the city to call him away from these moderate delights. He had noaffairs at all. Probably he had never had any grave affairs to attendto in his life. It was a kindly existence, with its joys and sorrowsregulated by the course of Nature--marriages, births, deaths--ruled bythe prescribed usages of good society and protected by the State. 

He was a widower; but in the months of July and August he ventured tocross the Alps for six weeks on a visit to his married daughter. Hetold me her name. It was that of a very aristocratic family. She hada castle--in Bohemia, I think. This is as near as I ever came toascertaining his nationality. His own name, strangely enough, he nevermentioned. Perhaps he thought I had seen it on the published list. Truthto say, I never looked. At any rate, he was a good European--he spokefour languages to my certain knowledge--and a man of fortune. Notof great fortune evidently and appropriately. I imagine that to beextremely rich would have appeared to him improper, outre--too blatantaltogether. And obviously, too, the fortune was not of his making. Themaking of a fortune cannot be achieved without some roughness. It isa matter of temperament. His nature was too kindly for strife. In thecourse of conversation he mentioned his estate quite by the way, inreference to that painful and alarming rheumatic affection. One year, staying incautiously beyond the Alps as late as the middle of September, he had been laid up for three months in that lonely country housewith no one but his valet and the caretaking couple to attend to him. Because, as he expressed it, he "kept no establishment there. " Hehad only gone for a couple of days to confer with his land agent. Hepromised himself never to be so imprudent in the future. The first weeksof September would find him on the shores of his beloved gulf. 

Sometimes in travelling one comes upon such lonely men, whose onlybusiness is to wait for the unavoidable. Deaths and marriages have madea solitude round them, and one really cannot blame their endeavours tomake the waiting as easy as possible. As he remarked to me, "At my timeof life freedom from physical pain is a very important matter. "

It must not be imagined that he was a wearisome hypochondriac. He wasreally much too well-bred to be a nuisance. He had an eye for thesmall weaknesses of humanity. But it was a good-natured eye. He madea restful, easy, pleasant companion for the hours between dinner andbedtime. We spent three evenings together, and then I had to leaveNaples in a hurry to look after a friend who had fallen seriously illin Taormina. Having nothing to do, Il Conde came to see me off at thestation. I was somewhat upset, and his idleness was always ready to takea kindly form. He was by no means an indolent man. 

He went along the train peering into the carriages for a good seat forme, and then remained talking cheerily from below. He declared he wouldmiss me that evening very much and announced his intention of goingafter dinner to listen to the band in the public garden, the VillaNazionale. He would amuse himself by hearing excellent music and lookingat the best society. There would be a lot of people, as usual. 

I seem to see him yet--his raised face with a friendly smile under thethick moustaches, and his kind, fatigued eyes. As the train began tomove, he addressed me in two languages: first in French, saying, "Bon voyage"; then, in his very good, somewhat emphaticEnglish, encouragingly, because he could see my concern: "Allwill--be--well--yet!"

My friend's illness having taken a decidedly favourable turn, I returnedto Naples on the tenth day. I cannot say I had given much thought to IlConde during my absence, but entering the dining-room I looked for himin his habitual place. I had an idea he might have gone back to Sorrentoto his piano and his books and his fishing. He was great friends withall the boatmen, and fished a good deal with lines from a boat. But Imade out his white head in the crowd of heads, and even from a distancenoticed something unusual in his attitude. Instead of sitting erect, gazing all round with alert urbanity, he drooped over his plate. I stoodopposite him for some time before he looked up, a little wildly, if sucha strong word can be used in connection with his correct appearance. 

"Ah, my dear sir! Is it you?" he greeted me. "I hope all is well. "

He was very nice about my friend. Indeed, he was always nice, with theniceness of people whose hearts are genuinely humane. But this time itcost him an effort. His attempts at general conversation broke down intodullness. It occurred to me he might have been indisposed. But before Icould frame the inquiry he muttered:

"You find me here very sad. "

"I am sorry for that, " I said. "You haven't had bad news, I hope?"

It was very kind of me to take an interest. No. It was not that. Nobad news, thank God. And he became very still as if holding hisbreath. Then, leaning forward a little, and in an odd tone of awedembarrassment, he took me into his confidence. 

"The truth is that I have had a very--a very--how shall Isay?--abominable adventure happen to me. "

The energy of the epithet was sufficiently startling in that man ofmoderate feelings and toned-down vocabulary. The word unpleasant Ishould have thought would have fitted amply the worst experience likelyto befall a man of his stamp. And an adventure, too. Incredible! Butit is in human nature to believe the worst; and I confess I eyed himstealthily, wondering what he had been up to. In a moment, however, my unworthy suspicions vanished. There was a fundamental refinement ofnature about the man which made me dismiss all idea of some more or lessdisreputable scrape. 

"It is very serious. Very serious. " He went on, nervously. "I will tellyou after dinner, if you will allow me. "

I expressed my perfect acquiescence by a little bow, nothing more. I wished him to understand that I was not likely to hold him to thatoffer, if he thought better of it later on. We talked of indifferentthings, but with a sense of difficulty quite unlike our former easy, gossipy intercourse. The hand raising a piece of bread to his lips, Inoticed, trembled slightly. This symptom, in regard to my reading of theman, was no less than startling. 

In the smoking-room he did not hang back at all. Directly we had takenour usual seats he leaned sideways over the arm of his chair and lookedstraight into my eyes earnestly. 

"You remember, " he began, "that day you went away? I told you then Iwould go to the Villa Nazionale to hear some music in the evening. "

I remembered. His handsome old face, so fresh for his age, unmarked byany trying experience, appeared haggard for an instant. It was like thepassing of a shadow. Returning his steadfast gaze, I took a sip of myblack coffee. He was systematically minute in his narrative, simply inorder, I think, not to let his excitement get the better of him. 

After leaving the railway station, he had an ice, and read the paper ina cafe. Then he went back to the hotel, dressed for dinner, and dinedwith a good appetite. After dinner he lingered in the hall (there werechairs and tables there) smoking his cigar; talked to the little girlof the Primo Tenore of the San Carlo theatre, and exchanged a few wordswith that "amiable lady, " the wife of the Primo Tenore. There was noperformance that evening, and these people were going to the Villa also. They went out of the hotel. Very well. 

At the moment of following their example--it was half-past ninealready--he remembered he had a rather large sum of money in hispocket-book. He entered, therefore, the office and deposited the greaterpart of it with the book-keeper of the hotel. This done, he took acarozella and drove to the seashore. He got out of the cab and enteredthe Villa on foot from the Largo di Vittoria end. 

He stared at me very hard. And I understood then how reallyimpressionable he was. Every small fact and event of that evening stoodout in his memory as if endowed with mystic significance. If he did notmention to me the colour of the pony which drew the carozella, and theaspect of the man who drove, it was a mere oversight arising from hisagitation, which he repressed manfully. 

He had then entered the Villa Nazionale from the Largo di Vittoria end. The Villa Nazionale is a public pleasure-ground laid out in grass plots, bushes, and flower-beds between the houses of the Riviera di Chiaja andthe waters of the bay. Alleys of trees, more or less parallel, stretchits whole length--which is considerable. On the Riviera di Chiaja sidethe electric tramcars run close to the railings. Between the garden andthe sea is the fashionable drive, a broad road bordered by a low wall, beyond which the Mediterranean splashes with gentle murmurs when theweather is fine. 

As life goes on late at night in Naples, the broad drive was all astirwith a brilliant swarm of carriage lamps moving in pairs, some creepingslowly, others running rapidly under the thin, motionless line ofelectric lamps defining the shore. And a brilliant swarm of stars hungabove the land humming with voices, piled up with houses, glitteringwith lights--and over the silent flat shadows of the sea. 

The gardens themselves are not very well lit. Our friend went forward inthe warm gloom, his eyes fixed upon a distant luminous region extendingnearly across the whole width of the Villa, as if the air had glowedthere with its own cold, bluish, and dazzling light. This magic spot, behind the black trunks of trees and masses of inky foliage, breathedout sweet sounds mingled with bursts of brassy roar, sudden clashes ofmetal, and grave, vibrating thuds. 

As he walked on, all these noises combined together into a piece ofelaborate music whose harmonious phrases came persuasively through agreat disorderly murmur of voices and shuffling of feet on the gravel ofthat open space. An enormous crowd immersed in the electric light, asif in a bath of some radiant and tenuous fluid shed upon their heads byluminous globes, drifted in its hundreds round the band. Hundredsmore sat on chairs in more or less concentric circles, receivingunflinchingly the great waves of sonority that ebbed out into thedarkness. The Count penetrated the throng, drifted with it in tranquilenjoyment, listening and looking at the faces. All people of goodsociety: mothers with their daughters, parents and children, young menand young women all talking, smiling, nodding to each other. Very manypretty faces, and very many pretty toilettes. There was, of course, aquantity of diverse types: showy old fellows with white moustaches, fatmen, thin men, officers in uniform; but what predominated, he toldme, was the South Italian type of young man, with a colourless, clearcomplexion, red lips, jet-black little moustache and liquid black eyesso wonderfully effective in leering or scowling. 

Withdrawing from the throng, the Count shared a little table in frontof the cafe with a young man of just such a type. Our friend had somelemonade. The young man was sitting moodily before an empty glass. He looked up once, and then looked down again. He also tilted his hatforward. Like this--

The Count made the gesture of a man pulling his hat down over his brow, and went on:

"I think to myself: he is sad; something is wrong with him; young menhave their troubles. I take no notice of him, of course. I pay for mylemonade, and go away. "

Strolling about in the neighbourhood of the band, the Count thinks hesaw twice that young man wandering alone in the crowd. Once their eyesmet. It must have been the same young man, but there were so many thereof that type that he could not be certain. Moreover, he was not verymuch concerned except in so far that he had been struck by the marked, peevish discontent of that face. 

Presently, tired of the feeling of confinement one experiences in acrowd, the Count edged away from the band. An alley, very sombre bycontrast, presented itself invitingly with its promise of solitudeand coolness. He entered it, walking slowly on till the sound of theorchestra became distinctly deadened. Then he walked back and turnedabout once more. He did this several times before he noticed that therewas somebody occupying one of the benches. 

The spot being midway between two lamp-posts the light was faint. 

The man lolled back in the corner of the seat, his legs stretched out, his arms folded and his head drooping on his breast. He never stirred, as though he had fallen asleep there, but when the Count passed by nexttime he had changed his attitude. He sat leaning forward. His elbowswere propped on his knees, and his hands were rolling a cigarette. Henever looked up from that occupation. 

The Count continued his stroll away from the band. He returned slowly, he said. I can imagine him enjoying to the full, but with his usualtranquillity, the balminess of this southern night and the sounds ofmusic softened delightfully by the distance. 

Presently, he approached for the third time the man on the garden seat, still leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. It was a dejectedpose. In the semi-obscurity of the alley his high shirt collar and hiscuffs made small patches of vivid whiteness. The Count said that he hadnoticed him getting up brusquely as if to walk away, but almost beforehe was aware of it the man stood before him asking in a low, gentle tonewhether the signore would have the kindness to oblige him with a light. 

The Count answered this request by a polite "Certainly, " and dropped hishands with the intention of exploring both pockets of his trousers forthe matches. 

"I dropped my hands, " he said, "but I never put them in my pockets. Ifelt a pressure there--"

He put the tip of his finger on a spot close under his breastbone, the very spot of the human body where a Japanese gentleman begins theoperations of the Harakiri, which is a form of suicide followingupon dishonour, upon an intolerable outrage to the delicacy of one'sfeelings. 

"I glance down, " the Count continued in an awestruck voice, "and what doI see? A knife! A long knife--"

"You don't mean to say, " I exclaimed, amazed, "that you have been heldup like this in the Villa at half-past ten o'clock, within a stone'sthrow of a thousand people!"

He nodded several times, staring at me with all his might. 

"The clarionet, " he declared, solemnly, "was finishing his solo, and Iassure you I could hear every note. Then the band crashed fortissimo, and that creature rolled its eyes and gnashed its teeth hissing at mewith the greatest ferocity, 'Be silent! No noise or--'"

I could not get over my astonishment. 

"What sort of knife was it?" I asked, stupidly. 

"A long blade. A stiletto--perhaps a kitchen knife. A long narrow blade. It gleamed. And his eyes gleamed. His white teeth, too. I could seethem. He was very ferocious. I thought to myself: 'If I hit him hewill kill me. ' How could I fight with him? He had the knife and I hadnothing. I am nearly seventy, you know, and that was a young man. Iseemed even to recognize him. The moody young man of the cafe. The youngman I met in the crowd. But I could not tell. There are so many like himin this country. "

The distress of that moment was reflected in his face. I should thinkthat physically he must have been paralyzed by surprise. His thoughts, however, remained extremely active. They ranged over every alarmingpossibility. The idea of setting up a vigorous shouting for helpoccurred to him, too. But he did nothing of the kind, and the reason whyhe refrained gave me a good opinion of his mental self-possession. Hesaw in a flash that nothing prevented the other from shouting, too. 

"That young man might in an instant have thrown away his knife andpretended I was the aggressor. Why not? He might have said I attackedhim. Why not? It was one incredible story against another! He mighthave said anything--bring some dishonouring charge against me--what doI know? By his dress he was no common robber. He seemed to belong to thebetter classes. What could I say? He was an Italian--I am a foreigner. Of course, I have my passport, and there is our consul--but to bearrested, dragged at night to the police office like a criminal!"

He shuddered. It was in his character to shrink from scandal, much morethan from mere death. And certainly for many people this would havealways remained--considering certain peculiarities of Neapolitanmanners--a deucedly queer story. The Count was no fool. His belief inthe respectable placidity of life having received this rude shock, hethought that now anything might happen. But also a notion came into hishead that this young man was perhaps merely an infuriated lunatic. 

This was for me the first hint of his attitude towards this adventure. In his exaggerated delicacy of sentiment he felt that nobody'sself-esteem need be affected by what a madman may choose to do toone. It became apparent, however, that the Count was to be denied thatconsolation. He enlarged upon the abominably savage way in which thatyoung man rolled his glistening eyes and gnashed his white teeth. Theband was going now through a slow movement of solemn braying by all thetrombones, with deliberately repeated bangs of the big drum. 

"But what did you do?" I asked, greatly excited. 

"Nothing, " answered the Count. "I let my hands hang down very still. Itold him quietly I did not intend making a noise. He snarled like a dog, then said in an ordinary voice:

"'Vostro portofolio. '"

"So I naturally, " continued the Count--and from this point acted thewhole thing in pantomime. Holding me with his eyes, he went throughall the motions of reaching into his inside breast pocket, taking outa pocket-book, and handing it over. But that young man, still bearingsteadily on the knife, refused to touch it. 

He directed the Count to take the money out himself, received it intohis left hand, motioned the pocketbook to be returned to the pocket, all this being done to the sweet thrilling of flutes and clarionetssustained by the emotional drone of the hautboys. And the "young man, "as the Count called him, said: "This seems very little. "

"It was, indeed, only 340 or 360 lire, " the Count pursued. "I had leftmy money in the hotel, as you know. I told him this was all I had on me. He shook his head impatiently and said:

"'Vostro orologio. '"

The Count gave me the dumb show of pulling out his watch, detaching it. But, as it happened, the valuable gold half-chronometer he possessed hadbeen left at a watch-maker's for cleaning. He wore that evening (on aleather guard) the Waterbury fifty-franc thing he used to take with himon his fishing expeditions. Perceiving the nature of this booty, thewell-dressed robber made a contemptuous clicking sound with his tonguelike this, "Tse-Ah!" and waved it away hastily. Then, as the Countwas returning the disdained object to his pocket, he demanded with athreateningly increased pressure of the knife on the epigastrium, by wayof reminder:

"'Vostri anelli. '"

"One of the rings, " went on the Count, "was given me many years ago bymy wife; the other is the signet ring of my father. I said, 'No. Thatyou shall not have!'"

Here the Count reproduced the gesture corresponding to that declarationby clapping one hand upon the other, and pressing both thus against hischest. It was touching in its resignation. "That you shall not have, "he repeated, firmly, and closed his eyes, fully expecting--I don't knowwhether I am right in recording that such an unpleasant word had passedhis lips--fully expecting to feel himself being--I really hesitate tosay--being disembowelled by the push of the long, sharp blade restingmurderously against the pit of his stomach--the very seat, in all humanbeings, of anguishing sensations. 

Great waves of harmony went on flowing from the band. 

Suddenly the Count felt the nightmarish pressure removed from thesensitive spot. He opened his eyes. He was alone. He had heard nothing. It is probable that "the young man" had departed, with light steps, some time before, but the sense of the horrid pressure had lingered evenafter the knife had gone. A feeling of weakness came over him. He hadjust time to stagger to the garden seat. He felt as though he had heldhis breath for a long time. He sat all in a heap, panting with the shockof the reaction. 

The band was executing, with immense bravura, the complicated finale. Itended with a tremendous crash. He heard it unreal and remote, as if hisears had been stopped, and then the hard clapping of a thousand, moreor less, pairs of hands, like a sudden hail-shower passing away. Theprofound silence which succeeded recalled him to himself. 

A tramcar resembling a long glass box wherein people sat with theirheads strongly lighted, ran along swiftly within sixty yards of the spotwhere he had been robbed. Then another rustled by, and yet anothergoing the other way. The audience about the band had broken up, and wereentering the alley in small conversing groups. The Count sat up straightand tried to think calmly of what had happened to him. The vilenessof it took his breath away again. As far as I can make it out he wasdisgusted with himself. I do not mean to say with his behaviour. Indeed, if his pantomimic rendering of it for my information was to be trusted, it was simply perfect. No, it was not that. He was not ashamed. Hewas shocked at being the selected victim, not of robbery so much as ofcontempt. His tranquillity had been wantonly desecrated. His lifelong, kindly nicety of outlook had been defaced. 

Nevertheless, at that stage, before the iron had time to sink deep, hewas able to argue himself into comparative equanimity. As his agitationcalmed down somewhat, he became aware that he was frightfully hungry. Yes, hungry. The sheer emotion had made him simply ravenous. He left theseat and, after walking for some time, found himself outside the gardensand before an arrested tramcar, without knowing very well how he camethere. He got in as if in a dream, by a sort of instinct. Fortunately hefound in his trouser pocket a copper to satisfy the conductor. Thenthe car stopped, and as everybody was getting out he got out, too. Herecognized the Piazza San Ferdinando, but apparently it did not occur tohim to take a cab and drive to the hotel. He remained in distress onthe Piazza like a lost dog, thinking vaguely of the best way of gettingsomething to eat at once. 

Suddenly he remembered his twenty-franc piece. He explained to me thathe had that piece of French gold for something like three years. He usedto carry it about with him as a sort of reserve in case of accident. Anybody is liable to have his pocket picked--a quite different thingfrom a brazen and insulting robbery. 

The monumental arch of the Galleria Umberto faced him at the top ofa noble flight of stairs. He climbed these without loss of time, anddirected his steps towards the Cafe Umberto. All the tables outsidewere occupied by a lot of people who were drinking. But as he wantedsomething to eat, he went inside into the cafe, which is divided intoaisles by square pillars set all round with long looking-glasses. The Count sat down on a red plush bench against one of these pillars, waiting for his risotto. And his mind reverted to his abominableadventure. 

He thought of the moody, well-dressed young man, with whom he hadexchanged glances in the crowd around the bandstand, and who, he feltconfident, was the robber. Would he recognize him again? Doubtless. Buthe did not want ever to see him again. The best thing was to forget thishumiliating episode. 

The Count looked round anxiously for the coming of his risotto, and, behold! to the left against the wall--there sat the young man. He wasalone at a table, with a bottle of some sort of wine or syrup and acarafe of iced water before him. The smooth olive cheeks, the red lips, the little jet-black moustache turned up gallantly, the fine black eyesa little heavy and shaded by long eyelashes, that peculiar expression ofcruel discontent to be seen only in the busts of some Roman emperors--itwas he, no doubt at all. But that was a type. The Count looked awayhastily. The young officer over there reading a paper was like that, too. Same type. Two young men farther away playing draughts alsoresembled--

The Count lowered his head with the fear in his heart of beingeverlastingly haunted by the vision of that young man. He began toeat his risotto. Presently he heard the young man on his left call thewaiter in a bad-tempered tone. 

At the call, not only his own waiter, but two other idle waitersbelonging to a quite different row of tables, rushed towards him withobsequious alacrity, which is not the general characteristic of thewaiters in the Cafe Umberto. The young man muttered something and oneof the waiters walking rapidly to the nearest door called out into theGalleria: "Pasquale! O! Pasquale!"

Everybody knows Pasquale, the shabby old fellow who, shuffling betweenthe tables, offers for sale cigars, cigarettes, picture postcards, andmatches to the clients of the cafe. He is in many respects an engagingscoundrel. The Count saw the grey-haired, unshaven ruffian enter thecafe, the glass case hanging from his neck by a leather strap, and, at aword from the waiter, make his shuffling way with a sudden spurt tothe young man's table. The young man was in need of a cigar with whichPasquale served him fawningly. The old pedlar was going out, when theCount, on a sudden impulse, beckoned to him. 

Pasquale approached, the smile of deferential recognition combiningoddly with the cynical searching expression of his eyes. Leaning hiscase on the table, he lifted the glass lid without a word. The Counttook a box of cigarettes and urged by a fearful curiosity, asked ascasually as he could--

"Tell me, Pasquale, who is that young signore sitting over there?"

The other bent over his box confidentially. 

"That, Signor Conde, " he said, beginning to rearrange his wares busilyand without looking up, "that is a young Cavaliere of a very good familyfrom Bari. He studies in the University here, and is the chief, capo, ofan association of young men--of very nice young men. "

He paused, and then, with mingled discretion and pride of knowledge, murmured the explanatory word "Camorra" and shut down the lid. "A verypowerful Camorra, " he breathed out. "The professors themselves respectit greatly . . . Una lira e cinquanti centesimi, Signor Conde. "

Our friend paid with the gold piece. While Pasquale was making up thechange, he observed that the young man, of whom he had heard so muchin a few words, was watching the transaction covertly. After the oldvagabond had withdrawn with a bow, the Count settled with the waiter andsat still. A numbness, he told me, had come over him. 

The young man paid, too, got up, and crossed over, apparently for thepurpose of looking at himself in the mirror set in the pillar nearest tothe Count's seat. He was dressed all in black with a dark green bow tie. The Count looked round, and was startled by meeting a vicious glanceout of the corners of the other's eyes. The young Cavaliere from Bari(according to Pasquale; but Pasquale is, of course, an accomplishedliar) went on arranging his tie, settling his hat before the glass, andmeantime he spoke just loud enough to be heard by the Count. He spokethrough his teeth with the most insulting venom of contempt and gazingstraight into the mirror. 

"Ah! So you had some gold on you--you old liar--you old birba--youfurfante! But you are not done with me yet. "

The fiendishness of his expression vanished like lightning, and helounged out of the cafe with a moody, impassive face. 

The poor Count, after telling me this last episode, fell back tremblingin his chair. His forehead broke into perspiration. There was a wantoninsolence in the spirit of this outrage which appalled even me. What itwas to the Count's delicacy I won't attempt to guess. I am sure that ifhe had been not too refined to do such a blatantly vulgar thing as dyingfrom apoplexy in a cafe, he would have had a fatal stroke there andthen. All irony apart, my difficulty was to keep him from seeingthe full extent of my commiseration. He shrank from every excessivesentiment, and my commiseration was practically unbounded. It did notsurprise me to hear that he had been in bed a week. He had got up tomake his arrangements for leaving Southern Italy for good and all. 

And the man was convinced that he could not live through a whole year inany other climate!

No argument of mine had any effect. It was not timidity, though he didsay to me once: "You do not know what a Camorra is, my dear sir. I ama marked man. " He was not afraid of what could be done to him. His delicate conception of his dignity was defiled by a degradingexperience. He couldn't stand that. No Japanese gentleman, outraged inhis exaggerated sense of honour, could have gone about his preparationsfor Hara-kiri with greater resolution. To go home really amounted tosuicide for the poor Count. 

There is a saying of Neapolitan patriotism, intended for the informationof foreigners, I presume: "See Naples and then die. " Vedi Napoli e poimori. It is a saying of excessive vanity, and everything excessive wasabhorrent to the nice moderation of the poor Count. Yet, as I was seeinghim off at the railway station, I thought he was behaving with singularfidelity to its conceited spirit. Vedi Napoli! . . . He had seen it!He had seen it with startling thoroughness--and now he was going tohis grave. He was going to it by the train de luxe of the InternationalSleeping Car Company, via Trieste and Vienna. As the four long, sombrecoaches pulled out of the station I raised my hat with the solemnfeeling of paying the last tribute of respect to a funeral cortege. Il Conde's profile, much aged already, glided away from me in stonyimmobility, behind the lighted pane of glass--Vedi Napoli e poi mori!