It was the
fault of that little Sophie, too, who would keep on playing . . ."
"This is nothing of the kind," interrupted General D'Hubert. He laughed
a little sardonically. "Not at all so simple," he added. "Nor yet half
so reasonable," he finished, inaudibly, between his teeth, and ground
them with rage.
After this sound nothing troubled the silence for a long time, till the
Chevalier asked, without animation: "What is he--this Feraud?"
"Lieutenant of hussars, too--I mean, he's a general. A Gascon. Son of a
blacksmith, I believe."
"There! I thought so. That Bonaparte had a special predilection for the
canaille. I don't mean this for you, D'Hubert. You are one of us, though
you 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. Offspring
of a blacksmith and some village troll. See what comes of mixing
yourself up with that sort of people."
"You have made shoes yourself, Chevalier."
"Yes.
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