"But he isn't parading the town," the maid insisted in a shy murmur.
"Why, yes! Now I think of it, I haven't seen him anywhere about. What on earth has he done with himself?"
"He's gone to pay a call," suggested the maid, after a moment of silence.
Lieut. D'Hubert started.
"A call! Do you mean a call on a lady? The cheek of the man! And how do you know this, my dear?"
Without concealing her woman's scorn for the denseness of the masculine mind, the pretty maid reminded him that Lieut. Feraud had arrayed himself in his best uniform before going out. He had also put on his newest dolman, she added, in a tone as if this conversation were getting on her nerves, and turned away brusquely.
Lieut. D'Hubert, without questioning the accuracy of the deduction, did not see that it advanced him much on his official quest. For his quest after Lieut. Feraud had an official character. He did not know any of the women this fellow, who had run a man through in the morning, was likely to visit in the afternoon. The two young men knew each other but slightly. He bit his gloved finger in perplexity.
"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
