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Updated: April 30, 2025
Nothing can account for such inhumanity but the sanguinary madness of the Revolution which has tainted a whole generation," mused the returned émigré in a low tone. "Who is your adversary?" he asked a little louder. "What? My adversary! His name is Feraud." Shadowy in his tricorne and old-fashioned clothes like a bowed thin ghost of the ancien régime the Chevalier voiced a ghostly memory.
You and I have something that your Bonaparte's princes, dukes, and marshals have not, because there's no power on earth that could give it to them," retorted the emigre, with the rising animation of a man who has got hold of a hopeful argument. "Those people don't exist all these Ferauds. Feraud! What is Feraud?
Leonie's own tree. I may just as well eat this orange now instead of flinging it away." Emerging from a wilderness of rocks and bushes, General Feraud and his seconds discovered General D'Hubert engaged in peeling the orange. They stood still, waiting till he looked up. Then the seconds raised their hats, while General Feraud, putting his hands behind his back, walked aside a little way.
"I am staying with my brother-in-law over there." "Well, he will do for one," said the chipped veteran. "We're the friends of General Feraud," interjected the other, who had kept silent till then, only glowering with his one eye at the man who had never loved the Emperor. That was something to look at.
Before entering the circle of light playing on the multitude of sunken, glassy-eyed, starved faces, Colonel D'Hubert spoke in his turn: "Here's your firelock, Colonel Feraud. I can walk better than you." Colonel Feraud nodded, and pushed on towards the warmth of the fierce flames. Colonel D'Hubert was more deliberate, but not the less bent on getting a place in the front rank.
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.
A profound disgust of the ground on which he was making his way overcame him. Even the image of the charming girl was swept from his view in the flood of moral distress. Everything he had ever been or hoped to be would taste of bitter ignominy unless he could manage to save General Feraud from the fate which threatened so many braves.
One afternoon, sitting on the terrasse of the Café Tortoni, General D'Hubert learned from the conversation of two strangers occupying a table near his own that General Feraud, included in the batch of superior officers arrested after the second return of the king, was in danger of passing before the Special Commission.
Her fresh complexion and her long eyelashes, lowered demurely at the sight of the tall officer, caused Lieut. D'Hubert, who was accessible to esthetic impressions, to relax the cold, severe gravity of his face. At the same time he observed that the girl had over her arm a pair of hussar's breeches, blue with a red stripe. "Lieut. Feraud in?" he inquired, benevolently. "Oh, no, sir!
Service, I suppose." "Service? Not a bit of it!" cried Lieut. D'Hubert. "Learn, my angel, that he went out thus early to fight a duel with a civilian." She heard this news without a quiver of her dark eyelashes. It was very obvious that the actions of Lieut. Feraud were generally above criticism. She only looked up for a moment in mute surprise, and Lieut.
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