Lean and weather-beaten, lolling
back in their chairs, they scowled at people with moody and defiant
abstraction from under their hats pulled low over their eyes. It was not
difficult to recognize them for two of the compulsorily retired officers
of the Old Guard. As from bravado or carelessness they chose to speak in
loud tones, General D'Hubert, who saw no reason why he should change his
seat, heard every word. They did not seem to be the personal friends of
General Feraud. His name came up amongst others. Hearing it repeated,
General D'Hubert's tender anticipations of a domestic future adorned
with a woman's grace were traversed by the harsh regret of his warlike
past, of that one long, intoxicating clash of arms, unique in the
magnitude of its glory and disaster--the marvellous work and the special
possession of his own generation. He felt an irrational tenderness
towards his old adversary and appreciated emotionally the murderous
absurdity their encounter had introduced into his life. It was like an
additional pinch of spice in a hot dish.
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