He threw aside the letter of congratulation he had begun to write as in
duty bound, but without enthusiasm. He took a fresh piece of paper, and
traced on it the words: "This is my last will and testament." Looking at
these words he gave himself up to unpleasant reflection; a presentiment
that he would never see the scenes of his childhood weighed down the
equable spirits of Captain D'Hubert. He jumped up, pushing his chair
back, yawned elaborately in sign that he didn't care anything for
presentiments, and throwing himself on the bed went to sleep. During the
night he shivered from time to time without waking up. In the morning he
rode out of town between his two seconds, talking of indifferent things,
and looking right and left with apparent detachment into the heavy
morning mists shrouding the flat green fields bordered by hedges. He
leaped 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, but
presently a pale, sickly sun struggled out of the low vapours, and
Captain D'Hubert made out, in the distance, three horsemen riding a
little apart from the others.
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