As I nodded in acknowledgment, Duchesne turned slightly around, and I saw in his eyes he had overheard the words, though uttered in a mere whisper. Still he went on,-- “As for us who remain ingloriously behind you, we have nothing to do but to read your exploits in the 'Moniteur.' And would to Heaven the worthy editor would print his battles in better fashion! The whole page usually looks more like a beaten than a conquering army; wounded vowels and broken consonants at every step, and the capital letters awkward, hard-featured fellows, as though risen from the ranks.” “_Tonnerre de Dieu_, sir! do you mean an insult to me?” said the old colonel, in a voice which, though intended for a whisper, was heard over the whole circle. “An insult, my dear colonel? nothing within a thousand leagues of such. I was only speaking of the 'type' of our army, which may be very efficient, but is scarcely too good-looking.” No words can convey the sarcastic tone in which the speech was delivered, nor the mortification of the indignant colonel, who felt, but knew not how to reply to, such a taunt. Happily Madame de Lacostellerie interposed, and by skilfully changing the topic of conversation, averted further unpleasantness. My desire to learn something accurately as to the state of events made me anxious to reach my quarters, and I took the first opportunity of quitting the _salon_. As I passed through the outer room, Duchesne was standing against a sideboard, holding a glass in his hand. It was necessary that I should pass him closely, and I was preparing to salute him with the distant courtesy of our present acquaintance, when he said, in his former tone of easy raillery,-- “Going so early? Won't you have a glass of wine before you leave?” “No, I thank you,” said I, coldly, and going on towards the door. “Nor wait for the concert; Grassini will be here in half an hour?” I shook my head in negation; and as I passed out I heard him humming, with an emphasis which there was no mistaking, the couplet of a popular song of the day which concluded thus,-- “To-day for me; To-morrow for thee,--But will that to-morrow ever be?” That Duchesne intended to challenge me seemed now almost certain; and I ran over in my mind the few names of those I could ask to be my friends on such an occasion, but without being able to satisfy myself on the subject. A moment's recollection might have taught me that it was a maxim with the chevalier never to send a message, but in every case to make the adversary the aggressor; he had told me so over and over himself. That, however, did not occur to me at the moment, and I walked onward, thinking of our meeting. Could I have known what was passing in _his_ mind, I should have spared many serious and some sad thoughts to my own. CHAPTER XX. A SUDDEN DEPARTURE