Thus wrote Colonel D ’Hubert from Pomerania to his married sister Leonie, settled in the south of France.  And so far the sentiments expressed would not have been disowned by Colonel Feraud, who wrote no letters to anybody, whose father had been in life an illiterate blacksmith, who had no sister or brother, and whom no one desired ardently to pair off for a life of peace with a charming young girl.  But Colonel D ’Hubert’s letter contained also some philosophical generalities upon the uncertainty of all personal hopes, when bound up entirely with the prestigious fortune of one incomparably great it is true, yet still remaining but a man in his greatness.  This view would have appeared rank heresy to Colonel Feraud.  Some melancholy forebodings of a military kind, expressed cautiously, would have been pronounced as nothing short of high treason by Colonel Feraud.  But Leonie, the sister of Colonel D’Hubert, read them with profound satisfaction, and, folding the letter thoughtfully, remarked to herself that “Armand was likely to prove eventually a sensible fellow.”  Since her marriage into a Southern family she had become a convinced believer in the return of the legitimate king.  Hopeful and anxious she offered prayers night and morning, and burnt candles in churches for the safety and prosperity of her brother.

She had every reason to suppose that her prayers were heard.  Colonel D’Hubert passed through Lutzen, Bautzen, and Leipsic losing no limb, and acquiring additional reputation.  Adapting his conduct to the needs of that desperate time, he had never voiced his misgivings.  He concealed them under a cheerful courtesy of such pleasant character that people were inclined to ask themselves with wonder whether Colonel D’Hubert was aware of any disasters.  Not only his manners, but even his glances remained untroubled.  The steady amenity of his blue eyes disconcerted all grumblers, and made despair itself pause.

This bearing was remarked favourably by the Emperor himself; for Colonel D’Hubert, attached now to the Major-General’s staff, came on several occasions under the imperial eye.  But it exasperated the higher strung nature of Colonel Feraud.  Passing through Magdeburg on service, this last allowed himself, while seated gloomily at dinner with the Commandant de Place, to say of his life-long adversary:  “This man does not love the Emperor,” and his words were received by the other guests in profound silence.  Colonel Feraud, troubled in his conscience at the atrocity of the aspersion, felt the need to back it up by a good argument.  “I ought to know him,” he cried, adding some oaths.  “One studies one’s adversary.  I have met him on the ground half a dozen times, as all the army knows.  What more do you want?  If that isn’t opportunity enough for any fool to size up his man, may the devil take me if I can tell what is.”  And he looked around the table, obstinate and sombre.

Later on in Paris, while extremely busy reorganizing his regiment, Colonel Feraud learned that Colonel D’Hubert had been made a general.  He glared at his informant incredulously, then folded his arms and turned away muttering, “Nothing surprises me on the part of that man.”