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 had whistled, not
because the idea of pursuing Lieut. Feraud into that very salon was
disagreeable to him, but because, having arrived in Strasbourg only
lately, he had not had the time as yet to get an introduction to
Madame de Lionne. And what was that swashbuckler Feraud doing there, he
wondered. He did not seem the sort of man who--
"Are you certain of what you say?" asked Lieut.
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