“You are not pleased with me, my friends,” said he as he threw himself on to a couch which stood against the wall opposite to his companions.  “You think I did not speak the truth when I gave the reason of my refusal?  Well you are right.  I will give you the real reason why I would not fight.  It is very simple.  I do not wish to be killed.  I know these white-faced, trembling men—­there are no men more terrible.  They may run away but if they do not, if they string themselves to the point of action—­take the word of a soldier older than yourselves—­then is the time to climb trees.  To-morrow I would very likely kill our young friend, he would have had time to think, to picture to himself the little point of steel glittering towards his heart—­but to-night he would assuredly have killed me.  But as I say I do not wish to be killed.  You are satisfied?”

It appeared that they were not.  They sat with all the appearances of discontent.  They had no words for Captain Plessy.  Captain Plessy accordingly rose lightly from his seat.

“Ah,” said he, “my good friend the Lieutenant has after all left me my sword.  The table too is already pushed sufficiently on one side.  There is only one candle to be sure, but it will serve.  You are not satisfied, gentlemen?  Then—­” But both subalterns now hastened to assure Captain Plessy that they considered his conduct had been entirely justified.

THE DESERTER.

Lieutenant Fevrier of the 69th regiment, which belonged to the first brigade of the first division of the army of the Rhine, was summoned to the Belletonge farm just as it was getting dusk.  The Lieutenant hurried thither, for the Belletonge farm opposite the woods of Colombey was the headquarters of the General of his division.

“I have been instructed,” said General Montaudon, “to select an officer for a special duty.  I have selected you.”

Now for days Lieutenant Fevrier’s duties had begun and ended with him driving the soldiers of his company from eating unripe fruit; and here, unexpectedly, he was chosen from all the officers of his division for a particular exploit.  The Lieutenant trembled with emotion.

“My General!” he cried.

The General himself was moved.

“What your task will be,” he continued, “I do not known.  You will go at once to the Mareschal’s headquarters when the chief of the staff, General Jarras, will inform you.”

Lieutenant Fevrier went immediately up to Metz.  His division was entrenched on the right bank of the Mosel and beyond the forts, so that it was dark before he passed through the gates.  He had never once been in Metz before; he had grown used to the monotony of camps; he had expected shuttered windows and deserted roads, and so the aspect of the town amazed him beyond measure.  Instead of a town besieged, it seemed a town during a fairing.  There were railway carriages, it is true, in the Place Royale doing duty as hospitals; the provision shops, too, were bare, and there were no horses visible.