AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
The life of General de Prerolles was uniformly regulated. He arose at
dawn, and worked until the arrival of his courier; then he mounted his
horse, attired in morning military costume.
After his ride, he visited the quartermaster-general of his division,
received the report of his chief of staff, and gave necessary orders.
It was at this place, and never at the General's own dwelling, that the
captains or subaltern officers presented themselves when they had
occasion to speak to him.
At midday he returned to breakfast at the Hotel de Montgeron where,
morning and evening, his plate was laid; and soon after this meal he
retired to his own quarters to work with his orderly, whose duty it was
to report to him regarding the numerous guns and pieces of heavy ordnance
which make the object of much going and coming in military life.
After signing the usual number of documents, the General would mount
another of his horses, and at this hour would appear in civilian attire
for an afternoon canter. After this second ride he would pass an hour
at his club, but without ever touching a card, no matter what game was
in progress.
He dined at different places, but oftenest with his sister, where by this
time a studied silence was preserved on the subject of Zibeline. This,
however, did not prevent him from thinking of her more and more.
Mademoiselle de Vermont had not been seen again in the Bois de Boulogne
since the night of her dinner, although Henri had sought in vain to meet
her in the mornings in the bridle-path, and afternoons in the Avenue des
Acacias.
He decided that probably she did not wish to ride during Holy Week; but
when several days had passed after Easter, and still she was not seen
amusing herself in her usual fashion, he said to himself that perhaps it
would be the proper thing to make what is called "a dinner-call."
There are some women whose fascination is so overwhelming as to cause the
sanest of lovers to commit themselves, whence comes the slightly vulgar
expression, "He has lost his bearings." Henri began to feel that he was
in this state when he presented himself at Zibeline's home. A domestic
informed him that Mademoiselle had been absent a week, but was expected
home that evening. He left his card, regretting that he had not waited
twenty-four hours more.
It was now the middle of April, the time when the military governor of
Paris is accustomed to pass in review the troops stationed on the
territory under his command, and this review was to take place the next
morning.
The order for the mobilizing of his own division having been received and
transmitted, Henri's evening was his own, and he resolved to pass it with
Lenaieff, feeling certain that his colleague at least would speak to him
of Zibeline.
The aide-de-camp general lived at the Hotel Continental, much frequented
by Russians of distinction. Henri found his friend just dressing for
dinner, and well disposed to accept his proposition.
As they descended the stairs, they passed an imposing elderly man, with
white moustache and imperial, still very erect in his long redingote with
military buttons--a perfect type of the German officer who gets himself
up to look like the late Emperor William I. This officer and the French
general stopped on the stairs, each eyeing the other without deciding
whether he ought to salute or not, as often happens with people who think
they recognize some one, but without being able to recall where or in
what circumstances they have met before.
It was Henri whose memory was first revived.
"Captain, you are my prisoner!" he said, gayly, seizing the stranger by
the collar.
"What! The Commandant de Prerolles!" cried the elderly man, in a
reproachful tone, from which fifteen years had not removed the
bitterness.
"I know who he is!" said Lenaieff. "Monsieur is your former jailer of
the frontier fortress!"
The officer of the landwehr attempted to withdraw from the hand that held
him.
"Oh, I don't intend to let you escape! You are coming to dine with us,
and we will sign a treaty of peace over the dessert," said Henri,
clasping the officer's hand affectionately.
His tone was so cordial that the stranger allowed himself to be
persuaded. A quarter of an hour later all three were seated at a table
in the Cafe Anglais.
"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."
"Teufel!" exclaimed the German officer; "it appears that the Commandant
de Prerolles has lost no time since we took leave of each other."
"Thanks to you, Monsieur! Had you not allowed me to withdraw from your
society, I should certainly not have reached my present rank! To your
health, Captain!"
"To yours, General!"
Succeeding bumpers finally dissipated entirely the resentment of the
former jailer, and when they parted probably never to meet again--he and
his prisoner had become the best friends in the world.
"Meine besten complimente der Frau Hauptmannin!" said Henri to him, in
leaving him on the boulevard.
"Lieber Gott! I shall take good care not to own to her that I dined with
you."
"And why, pray?"
"Because there is one thing for which she never will forgive you."
"What is that?"
"The fact that you were the cause of her living alone for six months!"