"Idiot! Imbecile! _Non, non! Thees_ way. You would put zee thumb in zee soup. Zare! You haf catch zat. Come to zee dining-hall. I show you. I explain." The new groom was compelled to put forth all his energies to keep his face straight. If he laughed, he was lost. If only his old mates could see him now! The fop of Troop A playing at butler! Certainly he would have to write Chuck about it--(which he most certainly never did). Still, the ordeal in the dining-room was a severe one. Nothing he attempted was done satisfactorily; Pierre, having in mind Celeste's frivolity and this man's good looks, made the task doubly hard. He hissed "Idiot!" and "Imbecile!" and "Jackass!" as many times as there are knives and forks and spoons at a course dinner. It was when they came to the wines that Pierre became mollified. He was forced to acknowledge that the new groom needed no instructions as to the varying temperatures of clarets and burgundies. Warburton longed to get out into the open and yell. It was very funny. He managed, however, on third rehearsal, to acquit himself with some credit. They returned to the kitchen again, where they found Celeste nibbling crackers and cheese. She smiled. "Ha!" The vowel was given a prolonged roll. "So, Mademoiselle, you haf to come and look on, eh?" "Is there any objection, Monsieur?" retorted Celeste in her native tongue, making handsome eyes at Warburton, who was greatly amused. "Ha! if he was hideous, would you be putting on those ribbons I gave you to wear on Sundays?" snarled Pierre. Warburton followed their French without any difficulty. It was the French of the Parisian, with which he was fairly conversant. But his face remained impassive and his brows only mildly curious. "I shall throw them away, Monsieur Flageot, if you dare to talk to me like that. He _is_ handsome, and you are jealous, and I am glad. You behaved horribly to that coarse Nanon last Sunday. Because she scrubs the steps of the French embassy you consider her above me, _me!_" "You are crazy!" roared Pierre. "You introduced me to her so that you might make eyes at that abominable valet of the secretary!" Celeste flounced (whatever means of locomotion that is) abruptly from the kitchen. Pierre turned savagely to his protege. "Go! And eef you look at her, idiot, I haf revenge myself. Oh, I am calm! Bah! Go to zee stables, cattle!" And he rattled his pans at a great rate. Warburton was glad enough to escape. "I have brought discord into the land, it would seem."