The Duellists Page #2

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pure as driven snow...

you'll remain an imbecile.

Get out.

The whole town is buzzing with it.

I spoke with a delightful old gentleman

who affected to believe...

in the transmigration of souls.

He suggested you had both been

enemies in a previous incarnation.

What did Feraud suggest?

He kept remarkably quiet about it,

much like yourself.

Well...

it will all come out at the inquiry.

There won't be any inquiry.

- You're disappointed?

- War?

Yes, yes.

War again.

You'll be a free man back

with your troop in the morning.

- Good.

- Imagined you would think so.

So I have brought...

two bottles...

one corkscrew...

and my flute.

- Feraud intends to kill you.

- Is that what he says?

Oh, not to me,

but rumor goes around.

Damn him anyway!

He's most unreasonable.

The enemies of reason

have a certain blind look.

- He has that look, don't you think?

- What can I do?

I have given it some thought.

You cannot fight, one,

if you are in different places.

Physical impossibility.

Two...

if you're of different rank,

it's a breach of discipline.

And three,

if the state is at war...

duels of nations

take absolute precedence.

Therefore, keep away from him.

Keep ahead of him.

Put your trust in Bonaparte.

Thank you.

Just before history rolls over it,

what was the cause of the duel?

Are you asking

on behalf of the town?

Call it a...

light cavalry skirmish.

All in all...

I'm far from certain myself.

After six months

of hard campaigning...

there followed an interval of peace.

- Hold him, Gabriel.

- Are you holding onto the table?

- Richard, is he on the table?

- No, I'm not!

I got you. Got you.

Come on.

- Left arm, double or nothing.

- No, I only bet right hand.

- Another?

- Yes.

- Where's your bet?

- Trust me.

- You must be joking.

- Trust me!

Come on.

You're next.

Any more bets?

Damn muscle never healed properly.

You remember that boudoir soldier

in Strasbourg...

that staff lackey?

You'll act for me, won't you?

Hey, Moustache, my bags.

Now tell me you're married.

Madame, I am entirely at your service.

My dear Armand, how very gallant.

What a relief.

Well, now that I've found you,

it would be an act of mercy...

if you put us both to bed.

Marie Rose went bald.

She caught the mange in Italy.

Poor b*tch.

- How did Jacques respond to that?

- He never saw it.

He was killed at Marengo.

Simon must still be in Egypt.

Etienne married that fat girl of his.

And I have received a token of love.

I find that rather daunting.

With this ring, I renounce love...

and make do with you.

You were the one I always wanted.

You.

You, Hussar.

- What's this?

- I'll have them driven in deeper, sir.

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