“Did you think I was dead?” he crowed. “I think that you must have. As a matter of fact, I’ve never been off the ground. Notre Dame was not ready for me. Instead, to tell you the truth, I have been talking business.” He jerked his head at the window directly behind them. “Sitting in there. I became so absorbed that I forgot our engagement. Then I heard your voices, you know, and that reminded me.” He took his seat between them and looked benignantly round. “And now about supper. . . . I think a nice little _ragoût_, with potatoes _en robe de chambre_.” The party was not a success. René Dudoy pleaded night-work and left at once. As for Madeleine, she fainted before the _ragoût_ was served. * * * * * All things considered, I am inclined to think that when Madame Lacaze deceived the man she loved, because he was not her husband, she made another mistake. But then I am of the earth, earthy. What cannot possibly be denied is that it was a most splendid action. ‘So shines a good deed in a naughty world.’ Probably the trouble was that she did not trust herself. René’s desire to make the word ‘wait’ their watchword was dangerous, because it was sweet. It would have been the thin edge of the wedge. Madeleine was determined to play the game. It was not Lacaze she stood by, but the office he filled. It was not Dudoy she sent packing, but the devil himself. That her lover did not stand in her husband’s shoes was her misfortune. As such, however, it did not affect the case. She was a good girl. * * * * * Ten days after that dreadful evening at the Café de la Forêt Noire, the War came with a crash. The electrical atmosphere of the next three months saved Madeleine’s life. No spirit, however sick, could have failed to respond to such exciting treatment. Lacaze, the steeple-jack, the lion, welcomed the War with flashing eyes. From the moment the storm broke, his one idea was to kill. When the time came, he fought with twice the ardour with which he had reduced high places. He soon became sergeant; he was worth ten ordinary men. In all his pride, however, he never forgot how once his heels had ached. Besides, his wife’s dismissal of Dudoy had made him frown. . . . Before he left for the battle he had arranged everything. In reply to the questions which every soldier is asked, he stated that he was unmarried, and gave the name of Madame José Beer (_née_ Tuyte) as that of his next-of-kin. Then he visited the trull and told her her new estate. José was flattered, but curious. Lacaze enlightened her. “Now, if I should be killed, the news will come to you.” “I shall mourn,” said José.