She raised her candid eyes up to Lieutenant D’Hubert, who stared at her incredulously.

“It’s incredible.  Gone parading the town in his best uniform!  My dear child, don’t you know that he ran that civilian through this morning?  Clean through as you spit a hare.”

She accepted this gruesome intelligence without any signs of distress.  But she pressed her lips together thoughtfully.

“He isn’t parading the town,” she remarked, in a low tone.  “Far from it.”

“The civilian’s family is making an awful row,” continued Lieutenant D’Hubert, pursuing his train of thought.  “And the general is very angry.  It’s one of the best families in the town.  Feraud ought to have kept close at least....”

“What will the general do to him?” inquired the girl anxiously.

“He won’t have his head cut off, to be sure,” answered Lieutenant D’Hubert.  “But his conduct is positively indecent.  He’s making no end of trouble for himself by this sort of bravado.”

“But he isn’t parading the town,” the maid murmured again.

“Why, yes!  Now I think of it.  I haven’t seen him anywhere.  What on earth has he done with himself?”

“He’s gone to pay a call,” suggested the maid, after a moment of silence.

Lieutenant D’Hubert was surprised.  “A call!  Do you mean a call on a lady?  The cheek of the man.  But how do you know this?”

Without concealing her woman’s scorn for the denseness of the masculine mind, the pretty maid reminded him that Lieutenant Feraud had arrayed himself in his best uniform before going out.  He had also put on his newest dolman, she added in a tone as if this conversation were getting on her nerves and turned away brusquely.  Lieutenant D’Hubert, without questioning the accuracy of the implied deduction, did not see that it advanced him much on his official quest.  For his quest after Lieutenant Feraud had an official character.  He did not know any of the women this fellow who had run a man through in the morning was likely to call on in the afternoon.  The two officers knew each other but slightly.  He bit his gloved finger in perplexity.

“Call!” he exclaimed.  “Call on the devil.”  The girl, with her back to him and folding the hussar’s breeches on a chair, said with a vexed little laugh: 

“Oh, no!  On Madame de Lionne.”  Lieutenant D’Hubert whistled softly.  Madame de Lionne, the wife of a high official, had a well-known salon and some pretensions to sensibility and elegance.  The husband was a civilian and old, but the society of the salon was young and military for the greater part.  Lieutenant D’Hubert had whistled, not because the idea of pursuing Lieutenant Feraud into that very salon was in the least distasteful to him, but because having but lately arrived in Strasbourg he had not the time as yet to get an introduction to Madame de Lionne.  And what was that swashbuckler Feraud doing there?  He did not seem the sort of man who...