Madame de Lionne’s house had an excellent appearance.  A man in livery, opening the door of a large drawing-room with a waxed floor, shouted his name and stood aside to let him pass.  It was a reception day.  The ladies wore big hats surcharged with a profusion of feathers; their bodies sheathed in clinging white gowns, from the armpits to the tips of the low satin shoes, looked sylph-like and cool in a great display of bare necks and arms.  The men who talked with them, on the contrary, were arrayed heavily in multi-coloured garments with collars up to their ears and thick sashes round their waists.  Lieut.  D’Hubert made his unabashed way across the room and, bowing low before a sylph-like form reclining on a couch, offered his apologies for this intrusion, which nothing could excuse but the extreme urgency of the service order he had to communicate to his comrade Feraud.  He proposed to himself to return presently in a more regular manner and beg forgiveness for interrupting the interesting conversation . . .

A bare arm was extended towards him with gracious nonchalance even before he had finished speaking.  He pressed the hand respectfully to his lips, and made the mental remark that it was bony.  Madame de Lionne was a blonde, with too fine a skin and a long face.

“C’est ca!” she said, with an ethereal smile, disclosing a set of large teeth.  “Come this evening to plead for your forgiveness.”

“I will not fail, madame.”

Meantime, Lieut.  Feraud, splendid in his new dolman and the extremely polished boots of his calling, sat on a chair within a foot of the couch, one hand resting on his thigh, the other twirling his moustache to a point.  At a significant glance from D’Hubert he rose without alacrity, and followed him into the recess of a window.

“What is it you want with me?” he asked, with astonishing indifference.  Lieut.  D’Hubert could not imagine that in the innocence of his heart and simplicity of his conscience Lieut.  Feraud took a view of his duel in which neither remorse nor yet a rational apprehension of consequences had any place.  Though he had no clear recollection how the quarrel had originated (it was begun in an establishment where beer and wine are drunk late at night), he had not the slightest doubt of being himself the outraged party.  He had had two experienced friends for his seconds.  Everything had been done according to the rules governing that sort of adventures.  And a duel is obviously fought for the purpose of someone being at least hurt, if not killed outright.  The civilian got hurt.  That also was in order.  Lieut.  Feraud was perfectly tranquil; but Lieut.  D’Hubert took it for affectation, and spoke with a certain vivacity.

“I am directed by the general to give you the order to go at once to your quarters, and remain there under close arrest.”