Said one, indicating the laughing general with a jerk of the head: 

“A merry companion that.”

“There are some of us that haven’t smiled from the day the Other went away,” said his comrade.

A violent impulse to set upon and beat these unsubstantial wraiths to the ground frightened General D’Hubert.  He ceased laughing suddenly.  His urgent desire now was to get rid of them, to get them away from his sight quickly before he lost control of himself.  He wondered at this fury he felt rising in his breast.  But he had no time to look into that peculiarity just then.

“I understand your wish to be done with me as quickly as possible.  Then why waste time in empty ceremonies.  Do you see that wood there at the foot of that slope?  Yes, the wood of pines.  Let us meet there to-morrow at sunrise.  I will bring with me my sword or my pistols or both if you like.”

The seconds of General Feraud looked at each other.

“Pistols, general,” said the cuirassier.

“So be it. Au revoir—­to-morrow morning.  Till then let me advise you to keep close if you don’t want the gendarmerie making inquiries about you before dark.  Strangers are rare in this part of the country.”

They saluted in silence.  General D’Hubert, turning his back on their retreating figures, stood still in the middle of the road for a long time, biting his lower lip and looking on the ground.  Then he began to walk straight before him, thus retracing his steps till he found himself before the park gate of his intended’s home.  Motionless he stared through the bars at the front of the house gleaming clear beyond the thickets and trees.  Footsteps were heard on the gravel, and presently a tall stooping shape emerged from the lateral alley following the inner side of the park wall.

Le Chevalier de Valmassigue, uncle of the adorable Adele, ex-brigadier in the army of the princes, bookbinder in Altona, afterwards shoemaker (with a great reputation for elegance in the fit of ladies’ shoes) in another small German town, wore silk stockings on his lean shanks, low shoes with silver buckles, a brocaded waistcoat.  A long-skirted coat a la Francaise covered loosely his bowed back.  A small three-cornered hat rested on a lot of powdered hair tied behind in a queue.

“Monsieur le Chevalier,” called General D’Hubert softly.

“What?  You again here, mon ami?  Have you forgotten something?”

“By heavens!  That’s just it.  I have forgotten something.  I am come to tell you of it.  No—­outside.  Behind this wall.  It’s too ghastly a thing to be let in at all where she lives.”