“Ah, mademoiselle,” he said in a tone of courtly deference.  “If I could be certain that you did not come here this morning only from a sense of duty to your mother!”

He waited for an answer, imperturbable but inwardly elated.  It came in a demure murmur, eyelashes lowered with fascinating effect.

“You mustn’t be mechant as well as mad.”

And then General D’Hubert made an aggressive movement towards the divan which nothing could check.  This piece of furniture was not exactly in the line of the open door.  But Madame Leonie, coming back wrapped up in a light cloak and carrying a lace shawl on her arm for Adele to hide her incriminating hair under, had a vague impression of her brother getting-up from his knees.

“Come along, my dear child,” she cried from the doorway.

The general, now himself again in the fullest sense, showed the readiness of a resourceful cavalry officer and the peremptoriness of a leader of men.

“You don’t expect her to walk to the carriage,” he protested.  “She isn’t fit.  I will carry her downstairs.”

This he did slowly, followed by his awed and respectful sister.  But he rushed back like a whirlwind to wash away all the signs of the night of anguish and the morning of war, and to put on the festive garments of a conqueror before hurrying over to the other house.  Had it not been for that, General D’Hubert felt capable of mounting a horse and pursuing his late adversary in order simply to embrace him from excess of happiness.  “I owe this piece of luck to that stupid brute,” he thought.  “This duel has made plain in one morning what might have taken me years to find out—­for I am a timid fool.  No self-confidence whatever.  Perfect coward.  And the Chevalier!  Dear old man!” General D’Hubert longed to embrace him, too.

The Chevalier was in bed.  For several days he was much indisposed.  The men of the empire, and the post-revolution young ladies, were too much for him.  He got up the day before the wedding, and being curious by nature, took his niece aside for a quiet talk.  He advised her to find out from her husband the true story of the affair of honour, whose claim so imperative and so persistent had led her to within an ace of tragedy.  “It is very proper that his wife should know.  And next month or so will be your time to learn from him anything you ought to know, my dear child.”

Later on when the married couple came on a visit to the mother of the bride, Madame la Generale D’Hubert made no difficulty in communicating to her beloved old uncle what she had learned without any difficulty from her husband.  The Chevalier listened with profound attention to the end, then took a pinch of snuff, shook the grains of tobacco off the frilled front of his shirt, and said calmly:  “And that’s all what it was.”

“Yes, uncle,” said Madame la Generale, opening her pretty eyes very wide.  “Isn’t it funny? C’est insense—­to think what men are capable of.”