“Why, of course!  You must know the whole story,” cried several voices, eager with curiosity.  “What was it?”

He raised his eyes from his glass deliberately.  “Even if I knew ever so well, you can’t expect me to tell you, since both the principals choose to say nothing.”

He got up and went out, leaving the sense of mystery behind him.  He could not stay any longer, because the witching hour of flute-playing was drawing near.

After he had gone a very young officer observed solemnly, “Obviously, his lips are sealed!”

Nobody questioned the high correctness of that remark.  Somehow it added to the impressiveness of the affair.  Several older officers of both regiments, prompted by nothing but sheer kindness and love of harmony, proposed to form a Court of Honour, to which the two young men would leave the task of their reconciliation.  Unfortunately they began by approaching Lieut.  Feraud, on the assumption that, having just scored heavily, he would be found placable and disposed to moderation.

The reasoning was sound enough.  Nevertheless, the move turned out unfortunate.  In that relaxation of moral fibre, which is brought about by the ease of soothed vanity, Lieut.  Feraud had condescended in the secret of his heart to review the case, and even had come to doubt not the justice of his cause, but the absolute sagacity of his conduct.  This being so, he was disinclined to talk about it.  The suggestion of the regimental wise men put him in a difficult position.  He was disgusted at it, and this disgust, by a paradoxical logic, reawakened his animosity against Lieut.  D’Hubert.  Was he to be pestered with this fellow for ever—­the fellow who had an infernal knack of getting round people somehow?  And yet it was difficult to refuse point blank that mediation sanctioned by the code of honour.

He met the difficulty by an attitude of grim reserve.  He twisted his moustache and used vague words.  His case was perfectly clear.  He was not ashamed to state it before a proper Court of Honour, neither was he afraid to defend it on the ground.  He did not see any reason to jump at the suggestion before ascertaining how his adversary was likely to take it.

Later in the day, his exasperation growing upon him, he was heard in a public place saying sardonically, “that it would be the very luckiest thing for Lieut.  D’Hubert, because the next time of meeting he need not hope to get off with the mere trifle of three weeks in bed.”

This boastful phrase might have been prompted by the most profound Machiavellism.  Southern natures often hide, under the outward impulsiveness of action and speech, a certain amount of astuteness.

Lieut.  Feraud, mistrusting the justice of men, by no means desired a Court of Honour; and the above words, according so well with his temperament, had also the merit of serving his turn.  Whether meant so or not, they found their way in less than four-and-twenty hours into Lieut.  D’Hubert’s bedroom.  In consequence Lieut.  D’Hubert, sitting propped up with pillows, received the overtures made to him next day by the statement that the affair was of a nature which could not bear discussion.