As he approached the suburb where he lived, Auguste saw Bertrand in front of him, evidently returning home, like himself; he quickened his pace in order to overtake him. When the ex-corporal caught sight of his master, he uttered a cry of joy, saying:
“Morbleu! you are not wounded?”
“Why in the devil should I be wounded?” demanded Auguste.
“What would there be so surprising about it, monsieur, when you have been fighting a duel?”
“A duel—I?”
“At all events that’s what our landlady told me this morning; she declared that a young man called for you at daybreak, and that from the few words that fell from you she gathered that there was a duel in the wind.”
“Parbleu! this is very strange!”
“She even mentioned several places where she thought you might have gone to settle your dispute; so that, since early morning, I’ve been running in all directions, and have been well laughed at by everybody that I asked if they’d seen two men fighting.”
“I don’t understand it at all, Bertrand.”
“Do you mean to say that it isn’t all true?”