“Whatever it is,” said the surgeon, “I wouldn't pronounce an opinion on your conduct....”
“By heavens, you had better not,” burst out D'Hubert.
“There! There! Don't be so quick in flourishing the sword. It doesn't pay in the long run. Understand once for all that I would not carve any of you youngsters except with the tools of my trade. But my advice is good. Moderate your temper. If you go on like this you will make for yourself an ugly reputation.”
“Go on like what?” demanded Lieutenant D'Hubert, stopping short, quite startled. “I! I! make for myself a reputation.... What do you imagine——”
“I told you I don't wish to judge of the rights and wrongs of this incident. It's not my business. Nevertheless....”
“What on earth has he been telling you?” interrupted Lieutenant D'Hubert in a sort of awed scare.
“I told, you already that at first when I picked him up in the garden he was incoherent. Afterwards he was naturally reticent. But I gather at least that he could not help himself....”
“He couldn't?” shouted Lieutenant D'Hubert. Then lowering his voice, “And what about me? Could I help myself?”
The surgeon rose. His thoughts were running upon the flute, his constant companion, with a consoling voice. In the vicinity of field ambulances, after twenty-four hours' hard work, he had been known to trouble with its sweet sounds the horrible stillness of battlefields given over to silence and the dead. The solacing hour of his daily life was approaching and in peace time he held on to the minutes as a miser to his hoard.
“Of course! Of course!” he said perfunctorily. “You would think so. It's amusing. However, being perfectly neutral and friendly to you both, I have consented to deliver his message. Say that I am humouring an invalid if you like. He says that this affair is by no means at an end. He intends to send you his seconds directly he has regained his strength—providing, of course, the army is not in the field at that time.”