And after a lingering look, he shut up his glass, and walking thoughtfully back with his friend, said suddenly—­

’And, now I think of it—­it could not be that—­Puddock, you know, would not suffer the priest to sit in the same coach with such a design—­Puddock’s a good officer, eh! and knows his duty.’

A few hours afterwards, General Chattesworth, having just dismounted outside the Artillery barracks, to his surprise, met Puddock and O’Flaherty walking leisurely in the street of Chapelizod.  O’Flaherty looked pale and shaky, and rather wild; and the general returned his salute, looking deuced hard at him, and wondering all the time in what part of his body (in his phrase) ‘he had got it;’ and how the plague the doctors had put him so soon on his legs again.

‘Ha, Lieutenant Puddock,’ with a smile, which Puddock thought significant—­’give you good-evening, Sir.  Dr. Toole anywhere about, or have you seen Sturk?’

‘No, he had not.’

The general wanted to hear by accident, or in confidence, all about it; and having engaged Puddock in talk, that officer followed by his side.

’I should be glad of the honour of your company, Lieutenant Puddock, to dinner this evening—­Sturk comes, and Captain Cluffe, and this wonderful Mr. Dangerfield too, of whom we all heard so much at mess, at five o’clock, if the invitation’s not too late.’

The lieutenant acknowledged and accepted, with a blush and a very low bow, his commanding officer’s hospitality; in fact, there was a tendre in the direction of Belmont, and little Puddock had inscribed in his private book many charming stanzas of various lengths and structures, in which the name of ‘Gertrude’ was of frequent recurrence.

’And—­a—­I say, Puddock—­Lieutenant O’Flaherty, I thought—­I—­I thought, d’ye see, just now, eh? (he looked inquisitively, but there was no answer); I thought, I say, he looked devilish out of sorts, is he—­a—­ill?’

‘He was very ill, indeed, this afternoon, general; a sudden attack——­’

The general looked quickly at Puddock’s plump, consequential face; but there was no further light in it.  ’He was hurt then, I knew it’—­he thought—­’who’s attending him—­and why is he out—­and was it a flesh-wound—­or where was it?’ all these questions silently, but vehemently, solicited an answer—­and he repeated the last aloud, in a careless sort of way.

’And—­a—­Lieutenant Puddock, you were saying—­a—­tell me—­now—­where was it?’

‘In the park, general,’ said Puddock, in perfect good faith.

’Eh? ah! in the park, was it? but I want to know, you know, what part of the body—­d’ye see—­the shoulder—­or?——­’

‘The duodenum, Dr. Toole called it—­just here, general,’ and he pressed his fingers to what is vulgarly known as the ‘pit’ of his stomach.

‘What, Sir, do you mean to say the pit of his stomach?’ said the general, with more horror and indignation than he often showed.