“Are you certain of what you say?” asked Lieutenant D’Hubert.

The girl was perfectly certain.  Without turning round to look at him she explained that the coachman of their next-door neighbours knew the maitre-d’hotel of Madame de Lionne.  In this way she got her information.  And she was perfectly certain.  In giving this assurance she sighed.  Lieutenant Feraud called there nearly every afternoon.

“Ah, bah!” exclaimed D’Hubert ironically.  His opinion of Madame de Lionne went down several degrees.  Lieutenant Feraud did not seem to him specially worthy of attention on the part of a woman with a reputation for sensibility and elegance.  But there was no saying.  At bottom they were all alike—­very practical rather than idealistic.  Lieutenant D’Hubert, however, did not allow his mind to dwell on these considerations.  “By thunder!” he reflected aloud.  “The general goes there sometimes.  If he happens to find the fellow making eyes at the lady there will be the devil to pay.  Our general is not a very accommodating person, I can tell you.”

“Go quickly then.  Don’t stand here now I’ve told you where he is,” cried the girl, colouring to the eyes.

“Thanks, my dear.  I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

After manifesting his gratitude in an aggressive way which at first was repulsed violently and then submitted to with a sudden and still more repellent indifference, Lieutenant D’Hubert took his departure.

He clanked and jingled along the streets with a martial swagger.  To run a comrade to earth in a drawing-room where he was not known did not trouble him in the least.  A uniform is a social passport.  His position as officier d’ordonnance of the general added to his assurance.  Moreover, now he knew where to find Lieutenant Feraud, he had no option.  It was a service matter.

Madame de Lionne’s house had an excellent appearance.  A man in livery opening the door of a large drawing-room with a waxed floor, shouted his name and stood aside to let him pass.  It was a reception day.  The ladies wearing hats surcharged with a profusion of feathers, sheathed in clinging white gowns from their armpits to the tips of their low satin shoes, looked sylphlike and cool in a great display of bare necks and arms.  The men who talked with them, on the contrary, were arrayed heavily in ample, coloured garments with stiff collars up to their ears and thick sashes round their waists.  Lieutenant D’Hubert made his unabashed way across the room, and bowing low before a sylphlike form reclining on a couch, offered his apologies for this intrusion, which nothing could excuse but the extreme urgency of the service order he had to communicate to his comrade Feraud.  He proposed to himself to come presently in a more regular manner and beg forgiveness for interrupting this interesting conversation....

A bare arm was extended to him with gracious condescension even before he had finished speaking.  He pressed the hand respectfully to his lips and made the mental remark that it was bony.  Madame de Lionne was a blonde with too fine a skin and a long face.