“I present to you General Lenaieff,” said Henri to his guest.  “You should be more incensed against him than against me, for, if he had done his duty, you would probably have had me imprisoned again.”

“Not imprisoned—­shot!” the Captain replied, with conviction.

“In that case I regret my complicity still less,” said Lenaieff, “for otherwise I should have lost an excellent friend, and, had Prerolles been shot, he never could have made me acquainted with the delicious Mademoiselle de Vermont!”

“Ah!  So that is what you are thinking of?” Henri said to himself.

“I do not know the young lady of whom you speak,” the German interrupted; “but I know that, for having allowed the Commandant to escape, I was condemned to take his place in the prison, and was shut up there for six months, in solitary confinement, without even seeing my wife!”

“Poor Captain!  How is the lady?” Henry inquired.

“Very well, I thank you.”

“Will you permit us to drink her health?”

“Certainly, Monsieur.”

“Hock! hoch!” said Henri, lifting his glass.

“Hock! hoch!” responded the ex-jailer, drinking with his former prisoner.

This delicate toast began to appease the bitterness of the good man; while the memories of his escape, offering a diversion to Henri’s mind, put him in sympathetic humor with the stranger.

“‘Ah!  There are mountains that we never climb but once,’” he said.  “We three, meeting in Paris, can prove the truth of that proverb.”

“Not only in Paris,” said Lenaieff.  “If you were in Saint Petersburg, Henri, you might, any evening, see your old flame, Fanny Dorville.”

“Does she keep a table d’hote?”

“No, indeed, my boy.  She plays duenna at the Theatre Michel, as that fat Heloise used to do at the Palais-Royal.  She must have died long ago, that funny old girl!”

“Not at all.  She is still living, and is a pensioner of the Association of Dramatic Artists!  But, pardon me, our conversation can hardly be amusing to our guest.”

“No one can keep a Frenchman and a Russian from talking about women!  The habit is stronger than themselves!” said the old officer, with a hearty laugh.

“Well, and you, Captain,” said Lenaieff:  “Have you not also trodden the primrose path in your time?”

“Gentlemen, I never have loved any other woman than my own wife,” replied the honest German, laying his large hand upon his heart, as if he were taking an oath.  “That astonishes you Parisians, eh?” he added benevolently.

“Quite the contrary!  It assures us peace of mind!” said Lenaieff.  “To your health, Captain!”

“And yours, Messieurs!”

And their glasses clinked a second time.

“Apropos,” said Lenaieff to Henri, “the military governor has asked me to accompany him to-morrow to the review at Vincennes.  I shall then have the pleasure of seeing you at the head of your division.”