It required some fortitude to lay his pistols down.  But on a sudden impulse General D’Hubert did this very gently—­one on each side.  He had been always looked upon as a bit of a dandy, because he used to shave and put on a clean shirt on the days of battle.  As a matter of fact he had been always very careful of his personal appearance.  In a man of nearly forty, in love with a young and charming girl, this praiseworthy self-respect may run to such little weaknesses as, for instance, being provided with an elegant leather folding case containing a small ivory comb and fitted with a piece of looking-glass on the outside.  General D’Hubert, his hands being free, felt in his breeches pockets for that implement of innocent vanity, excusable in the possessor of long silky moustaches.  He drew it out, and then, with the utmost coolness and promptitude, turned himself over on his back.  In this new attitude, his head raised a little, holding the looking-glass in one hand just clear of his tree, he squinted into it with one eye while the other kept a direct watch on the rear of his position.  Thus was proved Napoleon’s saying, that for a French soldier the word impossible does not exist.  He had the right tree nearly filling the field of his little mirror.

“If he moves from there,” he said to himself exultingly, “I am bound to see his legs.  And in any case he can’t come upon me unawares.”

And sure enough he saw the boots of General Feraud flash in and out, eclipsing for an instant everything else reflected in the little mirror.  He shifted its position accordingly.  But having to form his judgment of the change from that indirect view, he did not realise that his own feet and a portion of his legs were now in plain and startling view of General Feraud.

General Feraud had been getting gradually impressed by the amazing closeness with which his enemy had been keeping cover.  He had spotted the right tree with bloodthirsty precision.  He was absolutely certain of it.  And yet he had not been able to sight as much as the tip of an ear.  As he had been looking for it at the level of about five feet ten inches it was no great wonder—­but it seemed very wonderful to General Feraud.

The first view of these feet and legs determined a rush of blood to his head.  He literally staggered behind his tree, and had to steady himself with his hand.  The other was lying on the ground—­on the ground!  Perfectly still, too!  Exposed!  What did it mean?...  The notion that he had knocked his adversary over at the first shot then entered General Feraud’s head.  Once there, it grew with every second of attentive gazing, overshadowing every other supposition—­irresistible—­triumphant—­ferocious.

“What an ass I was to think I could have missed him!” he said to himself.  “He was exposed en plein—­the fool—­for quite a couple of seconds.”

And the general gazed at the motionless limbs, the last vestiges of surprise fading before an unbounded admiration of his skill.