He
contented himself by replying "Qui vivra verra" with a little truculent
air. And everybody admired his discretion.
Before the end of the truce Lieut. D'Hubert got his troop. The promotion
was well earned, but somehow no one seemed to expect the event. When
Lieut. Feraud heard of it at a gathering of officers, he muttered
through his teeth, "Is that so?" At once he unhooked his sabre from a
peg near the door, buckled it on carefully, and left the company without
another word. He walked home with measured steps, struck a light with
his flint and steel, and lit his tallow candle. Then snatching an
unlucky glass tumbler off the mantelpiece he dashed it violently on the
floor.
Now that D'Hubert was an officer of superior rank there could be no
question of a duel. Neither of them could send or receive a challenge
without rendering himself amenable to a court-martial. It was not to be
thought of. Lieut. Feraud, who for many days now had experienced no
real desire to meet Lieut. D'Hubert arms in hand, chafed again at the
systematic injustice of fate.
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