“Call!” he exclaimed. “Call on the devil.” The girl, with her back to him and folding the hussar's breeches on a chair, said with a vexed little laugh: “Oh, no! On Madame de Lionne.” Lieutenant D'Hubert whistled softly. Madame de Lionne, the wife of a high official, 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 for the greater part. Lieutenant D'Hubert had whistled, not because the idea of pursuing Lieutenant Feraud into that very salon was in the least distasteful to him, but because having but lately arrived in Strasbourg he had not the time as yet to get an introduction to Madame de Lionne. And what was that swashbuckler Feraud doing there? He did not seem the sort of man who... “Are you certain of what you say?” asked Lieutenant D'Hubert. The girl was perfectly certain. Without turning round to look at him she explained that the coachman of their next-door neighbours knew the _maitre-d'hôtel_ of Madame de Lionne. In this way she got her information. And she was perfectly certain. In giving this assurance she sighed. Lieutenant Feraud called there nearly every afternoon. “Ah, bah!” exclaimed D'Hubert ironically. His opinion of Madame de Lionne went down several degrees. Lieutenant Feraud did not seem to him specially worthy of attention on the part of a woman with a reputation for sensibility and elegance. But there was no saying. At bottom they were all alike--very practical rather than idealistic. Lieutenant D'Hubert, however, did not allow his mind to dwell on these considerations. “By thunder!” he reflected aloud. “The general goes there sometimes. If he happens to find the fellow making eyes at the lady there will be the devil to pay. Our general is not a very accommodating person, I can tell you.” “Go quickly then. Don't stand here now I've told you where he is,” cried the girl, colouring to the eyes. “Thanks, my dear. I don't know what I would have done without you.” After manifesting his gratitude in an aggressive way which at first was repulsed violently and then submitted to with a sudden and still more repellent indifference, Lieutenant D'Hubert took his departure. He clanked and jingled along the streets with a martial swagger. To run a comrade to earth in a drawing-room where he was not known did not trouble him in the least. A uniform is a social passport. His position as _officier d'ordonnance_ of the general added to his assurance. Moreover, now he knew where to find Lieutenant Feraud, he had no option. It was a service matter.