The following morning he was awakened at five o’clock by the hubbub, like the roar of water escaping from a broken dam, made by the 7th corps as it streamed through the city; he dressed in haste and went out, and almost the first person he set eyes on in the Place Turenne was Captain Beaudoin.  When pretty Madame Maginot was living at Charleville the year before the captain had been one of her best friends, and Gilberte had introduced him to her husband before they were married.  Rumor had it that the captain had abdicated his position as first favorite and made way for the cloth merchant from motives of delicacy, not caring to stand in the way of the great good fortune that seemed coming to his fair friend.

“Hallo, is that you?” exclaimed Delaherche.  “Good Heavens, what a state you’re in!”

It was but too true; the dandified Beaudoin, usually so trim and spruce, presented a sorry spectacle that morning in his soiled uniform and with his grimy face and hands.  Greatly to his disgust he had had a party of Turcos for traveling companions, and could not explain how he had become separated from his company.  Like all the others he was ready to drop with fatigue and hunger, but that was not what most afflicted him; he had not been able to change his linen since leaving Rheims, and was inconsolable.

“Just think of it!” he wailed, “those idiots, those scoundrels, lost my baggage at Vouziers.  If I ever catch them I will break every bone in their body!  And now I haven’t a thing, not a handkerchief, not a pair of socks!  Upon my word, it is enough to make one mad!”

Delaherche was for taking him home to his house forthwith, but he resisted.  No, no; he was no longer a human being, he would not frighten people out of their wits.  The manufacturer had to make solemn oath that neither his wife nor his mother had risen yet; and besides he should have soap, water, linen, everything he needed.

It was seven o’clock when Captain Beaudoin, having done what he could with the means at his disposal to improve his appearance, and comforted by the sensation of wearing under his uniform a clean shirt of his host’s, made his appearance in the spacious, high-ceiled dining room with its somber wainscoting.  The elder Madame Delaherche was already there, for she was always on foot at daybreak, notwithstanding she was seventy-eight years old.  Her hair was snowy white; in her long, lean face was a nose almost preternaturally thin and sharp and a mouth that had long since forgotten how to laugh.  She rose, and with stately politeness invited the captain to be seated before one of the cups of cafe au lait that stood on the table.

“But, perhaps, sir, you would prefer meat and wine after the fatigue to which you have been subjected?”

He declined the offer, however.  “A thousand thanks, madame; a little milk, with bread and butter, will be best for me.”