At that instant Petit Picpon’s keen, pale, Parisian face peered through the door; his great, black eyes, that at times had so pathetic a melancholy, and at others such a monkeyish mirth and malice, were sparkling excitedly and gleefully.

“Mon Caporal!”

“You, Picpon!  What is it?”

“Mon, Caporal, there is great news.  There is fighting broken out yonder.”

“Ah!  Are you sure?”

“Sure, mon Caporal.  The Arbicos want a skirmish to the music of musketry.  We are not to know just yet; we are to have the order de route to-morrow.  I overheard our officers say so.  They think we shall have brisk work.  And for that they will not punish the vieille lame.”

“Punish!  Is there fresh disobedience?  In my squadron; in my absence?”

He rose instinctively, buckling on the sword which he had put aside.

“Not in your squadron, mon Caporal,” said Picpon quickly.  “It is not much, either.  Only the bon zig Rac.”

“Rake?  What has he been doing?”

There was infinite anxiety and vexation in his voice.  Rake had recently been changed into another squadron of the regiment, to his great loss and regret; for not only did he miss the man’s bright face and familiar voice from the Chambree, but he had much disquietude on the score of his safety, for Rake was an incorrigible pratique, had only been kept from scrapes and mischief by Cecil’s influence, and even despite that had been often in hot water, and once even had been drafted for a year or so of chastisement among the “Zephyrs,” a mode of punishment which, but for its separation of him from his idol, would have given unmitigated delight to the audacious offender.

“Very little, mon Caporal!” said Picpon eagerly.  “A mere nothing—­a bagatelle!  Run a Spahi through the stomach, that is all.  I don’t think the man is so much as dead, even!”

“I hope not, indeed.  When will you cease this brawling among yourselves?  A soldier’s blade should never be turned upon men of his own army.  How did it happen?”

“A woman!  They quarreled about a little fruit-seller.  The Spahi was in fault.  ‘Crache-au-nez-d’la-Mort’ was there before him; and was preferred by the girl; and women should be allowed something to do with choosing their lovers, that I think, though it is true they often take the worst man.  They quarreled; the Spahi drew first; and then, pouf et passe! quick as thought, Rac lunged through him.  He has always a most beautiful stroke.  Le Capitaine Argentier was passing, and made a fuss; else nothing would have been done.  They have put him under arrest; but I heard them say they would let him free to-night because we should march at dawn.”

“I will go and see him at once.”

“Wait, mon Caporal; I have something to tell you,” said Picpon quickly.  “The zig has a motive in what he does.  Rac wanted to get the prison.  He has done more than one bit of mischief only for that.”