“Call!” he exclaimed.  “Call on the devil!”

The girl, with her back to him, and folding the hussars breeches on a chair, protested with a vexed little laugh: 

“Oh, dear, no!  On Madame de Lionne.”

Lieut.  D’Hubert whistled softly.  Madame de Lionne was the wife of a high official who 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.  Lieut.  D’Hubert had whistled, not because the idea of pursuing Lieut.  Feraud into that very salon was disagreeable to him, but because, having arrived in Strasbourg only lately, he had not had the time as yet to get an introduction to Madame de Lionne.  And what was that swashbuckler Feraud doing there, he wondered.  He did not seem the sort of man who—­

“Are you certain of what you say?” asked Lieut.  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 had her information.  And she was perfectly certain.  In giving this assurance she sighed.  Lieut.  Feraud called there nearly every afternoon, she added.

“Ah, bah!” exclaimed D’Hubert, ironically.  His opinion of Madame de Lionne went down several degrees.  Lieut.  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.  Lieut.  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, Lieut.  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 passport.  His position as officier d’ordonnance of the general added to his assurance.  Moreover, now that he knew where to find Lieut.  Feraud, he had no option.  It was a service matter.