Meanwhile Emile swore in a way that would have turned the English dragoons in Flanders green with envy. He was thirsting for vengeance and was busy turning over in his mind how he could best pay Pierre back in his own coin, when he found himself at the General's house. Thanks to Villebois and Riche's skill, Duval's bullet wound was so far healed that he was beginning to use his arm, and the movements and sensation of feeling showed that repair had set in vigorously. He was sitting in an easy chair when Emile was ushered into his presence.
"Well, and pray who are you, and what do you want to see me about at this time in the evening?" said Duval, frowning at him and looking very red in the face.
The General scrutinized the visiting card which Robert had just handed to him on a silver salver. Turning it over he examined it thoughtfully, and glanced up at him with a searching gaze.
"What have you been doing to your head?" he enquired.
Emile twisted his fingers, and played with his hat in a nervous fashion. "I met with an accident in the street, and a man ran out of a house and bound it up for me," he replied, cowed and trembling.
"I suppose you think that is the proper way to call on gentlemen of my rank in the evening, is it?"
Emile was beginning to feel faint, and sat down on a chair near the General.
"Get up, sir, this instant. How dare you sit down in the presence of a General of the French army, and without leave too? Parbleu, in my younger days you would have been arrested immediately, and severely punished. Ma foi, the service must be going to the devil. Get up this instant, do you hear me, sir?" he said, as the wretched man was too bewildered and confused to obey the General's orders.
"If you please, mon Général, I have the honour to inform you that—that your son has killed Professor Delapine, and that he will be arrested to-morrow morning for murder."