“Yes, Colonel, he has spoken of you constantly, and asks every day when you mean to come and see him.”
“He never served in the Legion, notwithstanding,” replied another voice, “nor do I remember ever to have seen him before.”
The tones of the speaker recalled me suddenly to myself. I looked up, and beheld Count Ysaffich before me. Though dressed in the lancer uniform of the Garde, his features were too marked to be forgotten, and I accosted him at once.
“Have you forgotten your old colleague, Paul Gervois?” said I, trying to appear calm and at ease.
“What!—is this—can you be my old friend Gervois?” cried be, laying a hand on my shoulder, and staring hard at my face. But I could not utter a word; shame and sorrow overcame me, and I covered my face with both my hands.
Ysaffich was not permitted to speak more with me at the time; but he returned soon, and passed hours with me every day to the end of my illness. He was intimate with the officer I had insulted; and, by immense efforts, and the kind assistance of the medical authorities, succeeded in establishing a plea of temporary insanity for my offence, by which I escaped punishment, and was dismissed the service. This was a period of much suffering to me, mentally as well as bodily. I felt all the humiliation at which my life had been purchased, and more than once did the price appear far too great a one.
CHAPTER XLVI. YSAFFICH
I was now domesticated with Ysaffich, who occupied good quarters in Kehl, where the Polish Legion, as it was called, was garrisoned. He treated me with every kindness, and presented me to his comrades as an old and valued friend. I was not sorry to find myself at once amongst total strangers,—men of a country quite new to me, and who themselves had seen reverses and misfortunes enough to make them lenient in their judgments of narrow fortune. They were, besides, a fine, soldier-like race of fellows,—good horsemen, excellent swordsmen, reckless as all men who have neither home nor country, and ready for any deed of daring or danger. There was a jealousy between them and the French officers which prevented any social intercourse; and duels were by no means a rare event whenever they had occasion to meet. The Imperial laws were tremendously severe on this offence; and he who killed his adversary in a duel was certain of death by the law. To evade the consequences of such a penalty, the most extravagant devices were practised, and many a deadly quarrel was decided in a pretended fencing-match. It was in one of these mock trials of skill that Colonel le Brun was killed, an officer of great merit, and younger brother of the general of that name.
From that time the attention of the military authorities was more closely drawn to this practice; and such meetings were for the future always attended by several gendarmes, who narrowly scrutinized every detail of the proceeding. With such perfect good faith, however, was the secret maintained on both sides that discovery was almost impossible. Not only was every etiquette of familiar intimacy strictly observed on these occasions, but a most honorable secrecy by all concerned.