The Chevalier came out at once with that benevolent resignation some old people display towards the fugue of youth.  Older by a quarter of a century than General D’Hubert, he looked upon him in the secret of his heart as a rather troublesome youngster in love.  He had heard his enigmatical words very well, but attached no undue importance to what a mere man of forty so hard hit was likely to do or say.  The turn of mind of the generation of Frenchmen grown up during the years of his exile was almost unintelligible to him.  Their sentiments appeared to him unduly violent, lacking fineness and measure, their language needlessly exaggerated.  He joined the general on the road, and they made a few steps in silence, the general trying to master his agitation and get proper control of his voice.

“Chevalier, it is perfectly true.  I forgot something.  I forgot till half an hour ago that I had an urgent affair of honour on my hands.  It’s incredible but so it is!”

All was still for a moment.  Then in the profound evening silence of the countryside the thin, aged voice of the Chevalier was heard trembling slightly.

“Monsieur!  That’s an indignity.”

It was his first thought.  The girl born during his exile, the posthumous daughter of his poor brother, murdered by a band of Jacobins, had grown since his return very dear to his old heart, which had been starving on mere memories of affection for so many years.

“It is an inconceivable thing—­I say.  A man settles such affairs before he thinks of asking for a young girl’s hand.  Why!  If you had forgotten for ten days longer you would have been married before your memory returned to you.  In my time men did not forget such things—­nor yet what’s due to the feelings of an innocent young woman.  If I did not respect them myself I would qualify your conduct in a way which you would not like.”

General D’Hubert relieved himself frankly by a groan.

“Don’t let that consideration prevent you.  You run no risk of offending her mortally.”

But the old man paid no attention to this lover’s nonsense.  It’s doubtful whether he even heard.

“What is it?” he asked.  “What’s the nature of...”

“Call it a youthful folly, Monsieur le Chevalier.  An inconceivable, incredible result of...”

He stopped short.  “He will never believe the story,” he thought.  “He will only think I am taking him for a fool and get offended.”  General D’Hubert spoke up again.  “Yes, originating in youthful folly it has become...”

The Chevalier interrupted.  “Well then it must be arranged.”

“Arranged.”

“Yes.  No matter what it may cost your amour propre.  You should have remembered you were engaged.  You forgot that, too, I suppose.  And then you go and forget your quarrel.  It’s the most revolting exhibition of levity I ever heard of.”

“Good heavens, Chevalier!  You don’t imagine I have been picking up that quarrel last time I was in Paris or anything of the sort.  Do you?”