Our traveller immediately unlocked a case that lay on the seat in front of him, and drew out a steel scabbard, from which he plucked the sword, and straightway leaped to the ground.  The officer’s cigar had been dashed from his mouth:  he stood at bay, sword in hand, meeting a rush with a desperate stroke.  The assistance of a second sword got him clear of the fray.  Both hastened forward as the crush melted with the hiss of a withdrawing wave.  They interchanged exclamations:  “Is it you, Jenna!”

“In the devil’s name, Pierson, have you come to keep your appointment in mid-winter?”

“Come on:  I’ll stick beside you.”

“On, then!”

They glanced behind them, heeding little the tail of ruffians whom they had silenced.

“We shall have plenty of fighting soon, so we’ll smoke a cordial cigar together,” said Lieutenant Jenna, and at once struck a light and blazed defiance to Milan afresh—­an example that was necessarily followed by his comrade.  “What has happened to you, Pierson?  Of course, I knew you were ready for our bit of play—­though you’ll hear what I said of you.  How the deuce could you think of running off with that opera girl, and getting a fellow in the mountains to stab our merry old Weisspriess, just because you fancied he was going to slip a word or so over the back of his hand in Countess Lena’s ear?  No wonder she’s shy of you now.”

“So, that’s the tale afloat,” said Wilfrid.  “Come to my hotel and dine with me.  I suppose that cur has driven my luggage there.”

Jenna informed him that officers had to muster in barracks every evening.

“Come and see your old comrades; they’ll like you better in bad luck—­there’s the comfort of it:  hang the human nature!  She’s a good old brute, if you don’t drive her hard.  Our regiment left Verona in November.  There we had tolerable cookery; come and take the best we can give you.”

But this invitation Wilfrid had to decline.

“Why?” said Jenna.

He replied:  “I’ve stuck at Meran three months.  I did it, in obedience to what I understood from Colonel Zofel to be the General’s orders.  When I was as perfectly dry as a baked Egyptian, I determined to believe that I was not only in disgrace, but dismissed the service.  I posted to Botzen and Riva, on to Milan; and here I am.  The least I can do is to show myself here.”

“Very well, then, come and show yourself at our table,” said Jenna.  “Listen:  we’ll make a furious row after supper, and get hauled in by the collar before the General.  You can swear you have never been absent from duty:  swear the General never gave you forcible furlough.  I’ll swear it; all our fellows will swear it.  The General will say, ’Oh! a very big lie’s equal to a truth; big brother to a fact, or something; as he always does, you know.  Face it out.  We can’t spare a good stout sword in these times.  On with me, my Pierson.”

“I would,” said Wilfrid, doubtfully.