Charles, absorbed in his own reflections, had turned toward the door through which the young girl had disappeared, like a heliotrope toward the setting sun. He seemed, with open mouth and nostrils dilated, to be absorbing the perfumed atoms which had floated round her as she passed. The nervous sensations of youth had been awakened in him, and as, in April, the chest expands to inhale the first breeze of spring, so his heart dilated with the first breath of love. It was not yet day, only the dawn; it was not yet love, but the herald which announced it. He was about to rise and follow the magnetic current he knew not whither, as young and agitated hearts are wont to do, when Schneider rang. The sound made him start and fall from the heights to which he was ascending. The old woman appeared. "Are there any of my hussars at hand?" asked Schneider. "Two," replied the woman. "Let one of them go on horseback, and fetch Master Nicholas at once," said he. The old woman closed the door without a question, which showed that she knew who was meant. Charles did not understand it; but it was evident that, like the toast following Mademoiselle de Brumpt's departure, this order was connected with the same event. It was also evident that the three other guests knew who Master Nicholas was, since they, who were so free to talk with Schneider, asked no questions. Charles would have asked his neighbor Monnet, but he dared not, for fear that Schneider would overhear the question and answer himself. There was a short silence, during which a certain restraint seemed to have fallen upon the party; the expectation of coffee--that pleasant beverage of dessert--and even its arrival, had not the power to draw aside so much as a corner of the sombre veil in which this order of Schneider's seemed to have enveloped them. Ten minutes passed thus. At the end of that time they heard three blows struck in a peculiar fashion. The guests started; Edelmann buttoned up his coat, which had been for a minute half open; Young coughed, and Monnet turned as pale as his own shirt. "It is he," said Euloge, frowning, and speaking in a preoccupied voice that to Charles seemed strangely altered. The door opened, and the old woman announced: "The citizen Nicholas!" Then she stood aside to allow the new-comer to pass, taking care as she did so that he should not touch her. A small man, thin, pale, and grave, entered. He was dressed like any one else, and yet, without apparent reason for it, there was something in his appearance, his figure, and his whole air that impressed the beholder as strange and weird. Edelmann, Young and Monnet drew back their chairs. Euloge alone moved his forward. The little man took two steps into the room, bowed to Euloge without paying any attention to the others, and then remained standing, with his eyes fixed on the chief. "We start to-morrow at nine o'clock," said Euloge. "For what place?" "Plobsheim." "Do we stop there?" "For two days."