This boastful phrase might have been prompted by the most profound Machiavelism.  Southern natures often hide under the outward impulsiveness of action and speech a certain amount of astuteness.

Lieutenant Feraud, mistrusting the justice of men, by no means desired a Court of Honour.  And these words, according so well with his temperament, had also the merit of serving his turn.  Whether meant for that purpose or not, they found their way in less than four-and-twenty hours into Lieutenant D’Hubert’s bedroom.  In consequence, Lieutenant D’Hubert, sitting propped up with pillows, received the overtures made to him next day by the statement that the affair was of a nature which could not bear discussion.

The pale face of the wounded officer, his weak voice which he had yet to use cautiously, and the courteous dignity of his tone, had a great effect on his hearers.  Reported outside, all this did more for deepening the mystery than the vapourings of Lieutenant Feraud.  This last was greatly relieved at the issue.  He began to enjoy the state of general wonder, and was pleased to add to it by assuming an attitude of moody reserve.

The colonel of Lieutenant D’Hubert’s regiment was a gray-haired, weather-beaten warrior who took a simple view of his responsibilities.  “I can’t”—­he thought to himself—­“let the best of my subalterns get damaged like this for nothing.  I must get to the bottom of this affair privately.  He must speak out, if the devil were in it.  The colonel should be more than a father to these youngsters.”  And, indeed, he loved all his men with as much affection as a father of a large family can feel for every individual member of it.  If human beings by an oversight of Providence came into the world in the state of civilians, they were born again into a regiment as infants are born into a family, and it was that military birth alone which really counted.

At the sight of Lieutenant D’Hubert standing before him bleached and hollow-eyed, the heart of the old warrior was touched with genuine compassion.  All his affection for the regiment—­that body of men which he held in his hand to launch forward and draw back, who had given him his rank, ministered to his pride and commanded his thoughts—­seemed centred for a moment on the person of the most promising subaltern.  He cleared his throat in a threatening manner and frowned terribly.

“You must understand,” he began, “that I don’t care a rap for the life of a single man in the regiment.  You know that I would send the 748 of you men and horses galloping into the pit of perdition with no more compunction than I would kill a fly.”

“Yes, colonel.  You would be riding at our head,” said Lieutenant D’Hubert with a wan smile.

The colonel, who felt the need of being very diplomatic, fairly roared at this.

“I want you to know, Lieutenant D’Hubert, that I could stand aside and see you all riding to Hades, if need be.  I am a man to do even that, if the good of the service and my duty to my country required it from me.  But that’s unthinkable, so don’t you even hint at such a thing.”