Morandot, having met Laguitte, did not disguise
his concern. If he--the major--was not killed, what would he live upon?
He had no fortune, and the pension to which his cross of the Legion of
Honor entitled him, with the half of a full regimental pension which
he would obtain on resigning, would barely find him in bread. While
Morandot was thus speaking Laguitte simply stared before him with his
round eyes, persevering in the dumb obstinacy born of his narrow mind;
and when his companion tried to question him regarding his hatred for
Burle, he simply made the same vague gesture as before and once again
repeated:
"He annoyed me; so much the worse."
Every morning at mess and at the canteen the first words were: "Has the
acceptance of the major's resignation arrived?" The duel was impatiently
expected and ardently discussed. The majority believed that Laguitte
would be run through the body in three seconds, for it was madness for a
man to fight with a paralyzed leg which did not even allow him to stand
upright. A few, however, shook their heads. Laguitte had never been a
marvel of intellect, that was true; for the last twenty years, indeed,
he had been held up as an example of stupidity, but there had been a
time when he was known as the best fencer of the regiment, and although
he had begun as a drummer he had won his epaulets as the commander of a
battalion by the sanguine bravery of a man who is quite unconscious of
danger.
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