having no resources within himself sank into a state of awe-inspiring hebetude. He haunted the streets of the little town, gazing before him with lacklustre eyes, disregarding the hats raised on his passage; and people, nudging each other as he went by, whispered, &ldquo;That&rsquo;s poor General Feraud. His heart is broken. Behold how he loved the Emperor.&rdquo; </p> <p> The other living wreckage of Napoleonic tempest clustered round General Feraud with infinite respect. He, himself, imagined his soul to be crushed by grief. He suffered from quickly succeeding impulses to weep, to howl, to bite his fists till blood came, to spend days on his bed with his head thrust under the pillow; but these arose from sheer ennui, from the anguish of an immense, indescribable, inconceivable boredom. His mental inability to grasp the hopeless nature of his case as a whole saved him from suicide. He never even thought of it once. He thought of nothing. But his appetite abandoned him, and the difficulty he experienced to express the overwhelming nature of his feelings (the most furious swearing could do no justice to it) induced gradually a habit of silence&mdash;a sort of death to a southern temperament. </p> <p> Great, therefore, was the sensation amongst the anciens militaires frequenting a certain little cafe; full of flies when one stuffy afternoon &ldquo;that poor General Feraud&rdquo; let out suddenly a volley of formidable curses. </p> <p> He had been sitting quietly in his own privileged corner looking through the Paris gazettes with just as much interest as a condemned man on the eve of execution could be expected to show in the news of the day. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll find out presently that I am alive yet,&rdquo; he declared, in a dogmatic tone. &ldquo;However, this is a private affair. An old affair of honour. Bah! Our honour does not matter. Here we are driven off with a split ear like a lot of cast troop horses&mdash;good only for a knacker&rsquo;s yard. But it would be like striking a blow for the Emperor. . . . Messieurs, I shall require the assistance of two of you.&rdquo; </p> <p> Every man moved forward. General Feraud, deeply touched by this demonstration, called with visible emotion upon the one-eyed veteran cuirassier and the officer of the Chasseurs a Cheval who had left the tip of his nose in Russia. He excused his choice to the others. </p> <p> &ldquo;A cavalry affair this&mdash;you know.&rdquo; </p> <p> He was answered with a varied chorus of &ldquo;Parfaitement, mon General . . . . C&rsquo;est juste. . . . Parbleu, c&rsquo;est connu. . . .&rdquo; Everybody was satisfied. The three left the cafe together, followed by cries of &ldquo;Bonne chance.&rdquo; </p> <p>