She would have remained indefinitely at this stage of intimacy, but he wanted more.  And every day he urged her more hotly to give in to his ardent desire.

She resisted, would not hear of it, seemed determined not to give way.

But one evening she said to him casually:  “My husband has just gone to Marseilles.  He will be away four days.”

Jean de Carmelin threw himself at her feet, imploring her to open her door to him that very night at eleven o’clock.  But she would not listen to him, and went home, appearing to be annoyed.

The commandant was in a bad humor all the evening, and the next morning at dawn he went out on the ramparts in a rage, going from one exercise field to the other, dealing out punishment to the officers and men as one might fling stones into a crowd.

On going in to breakfast he found an envelope under his napkin with these four words:  “To-night at ten.”  And he gave one hundred sous without any reason to the waiter.

The day seemed endless to him.  He passed part of it in curling his hair and perfuming himself.

As he was sitting down to the dinner-table another envelope was handed to him, and in it he found the following telegram: 

“My Love:  Business completed.  I return this evening on the nine
o’clock train. 
Parisse.”

The commandant let loose such a vehement oath that the waiter dropped the soup-tureen on the floor.

What should he do?  He certainly wanted her, that very, evening at whatever cost; and he would have her.  He would resort to any means, even to arresting and imprisoning the husband.  Then a mad thought struck him.  Calling for paper, he wrote the following note: 

Madame:  He will not come back this evening, I swear it to
you,—­and I shall be, you know where, at ten o’clock.  Fear nothing. 
I will answer for everything, on my honor as an officer. 

                                        Jean de Carmelin.

And having sent off this letter, he quietly ate his dinner.

Toward eight o’clock he sent for Captain Gribois, the second in command, and said, rolling between his fingers the crumpled telegram of Monsieur Parisse: 

“Captain, I have just received a telegram of a very singular nature, which it is impossible for me to communicate to you.  You will immediately have all the gates of the city closed and guarded, so that no one, mind me, no one, will either enter or leave before six in the morning.  You will also have men patrol the streets, who will compel the inhabitants to retire to their houses at nine o’clock.  Any one found outside beyond that time will be conducted to his home ‘manu militari’.  If your men meet me this night they will at once go out of my way, appearing not to know me.  You understand me?”

“Yes, commandant.”

“I hold you responsible for the execution of my orders, my dear captain.”