He remembered the flavour with
sudden melancholy. He would never taste it again. It was all over. "I
fancy it was being left lying in the garden that had exasperated him so
against me from the first," he thought, indulgently.
The two strangers at the next table had fallen silent after the third
mention of General Feraud's name. Presently the elder of the two,
speaking again in a bitter tone, affirmed that General Feraud's account
was settled. And why? Simply because he was not like some bigwigs who
loved only themselves. The Royalists knew they could never make anything
of him. He loved The Other too well.
The Other was the Man of St. Helena. The two officers nodded and touched
glasses before they drank to an impossible return. Then the same who
had spoken before, remarked with a sardonic laugh, "His adversary showed
more cleverness."
"What adversary?" asked the younger, as if puzzled.
"Don't you know? They were two hussars. At each promotion they fought a
duel. Haven't you heard of the duel going on ever since 1801?"
The other had heard of the duel, of course.
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