Zebiline, vol 3 | Page 8

the usual number of documents, the General would
mount another of his horses, and at this hour would appear in civilian
attire for an afternoon canter. After this second ride he would pass an
hour at his club, but without ever touching a card, no matter what game
was in progress.
He dined at different places, but oftenest with his sister, where by this
time a studied silence was preserved on the subject of Zibeline. This,
however, did not prevent him from thinking of her more and more.
Mademoiselle de Vermont had not been seen again in the Bois de
Boulogne since the night of her dinner, although Henri had sought in
vain to meet her in the mornings in the bridle-path, and afternoons in

the Avenue des Acacias.
He decided that probably she did not wish to ride during Holy Week;
but when several days had passed after Easter, and still she was not
seen amusing herself in her usual fashion, he said to himself that
perhaps it would be the proper thing to make what is called "a
dinner-call."
There are some women whose fascination is so overwhelming as to
cause the sanest of lovers to commit themselves, whence comes the
slightly vulgar expression, "He has lost his bearings." Henri began to
feel that he was in this state when he presented himself at Zibeline's
home. A domestic informed him that Mademoiselle had been absent a
week, but was expected home that evening. He left his card, regretting
that he had not waited twenty-four hours more.
It was now the middle of April, the time when the military governor of
Paris is accustomed to pass in review the troops stationed on the
territory under his command, and this review was to take place the next
morning.
The order for the mobilizing of his own division having been received
and transmitted, Henri's evening was his own, and he resolved to pass it
with Lenaieff, feeling certain that his colleague at least would speak to
him of Zibeline.
The aide-de-camp general lived at the Hotel Continental, much
frequented by Russians of distinction. Henri found his friend just
dressing for dinner, and well disposed to accept his proposition.
As they descended the stairs, they passed an imposing elderly man,
with white moustache and imperial, still very erect in his long redingote
with military buttons--a perfect type of the German officer who gets
himself up to look like the late Emperor William I. This officer and the
French general stopped on the stairs, each eyeing the other without
deciding whether he ought to salute or not, as often happens with
people who think they recognize some one, but without being able to
recall where or in what circumstances they have met before.

It was Henri whose memory was first revived.
"Captain, you are my prisoner!" he said, gayly, seizing the stranger by
the collar.
"What! The Commandant de Prerolles!" cried the elderly man, in a
reproachful tone, from which fifteen years had not removed the
bitterness.
"I know who he is!" said Lenaieff. "Monsieur is your former jailer of
the frontier fortress!"
The officer of the landwehr attempted to withdraw from the hand that
held him.
"Oh, I don't intend to let you escape! You are coming to dine with us,
and we will sign a treaty of peace over the dessert," said Henri,
clasping the officer's hand affectionately.
His tone was so cordial that the stranger allowed himself to be
persuaded. A quarter of an hour later all three were seated at a table in
the Cafe Anglais.
"I present to you General Lenaieff," said Henri to his guest. "You
should be more incensed against him than against me, for, if he had
done his duty, you would probably have had me imprisoned again."
"Not imprisoned--shot!" the Captain replied, with conviction.
"In that case I regret my complicity still less," said Lenaieff, "for
otherwise I should have lost an excellent friend, and, had Prerolles been
shot, he never could have made me acquainted with the delicious
Mademoiselle de Vermont!"
"Ah! So that is what you are thinking of?" Henri said to himself.
"I do not know the young lady of whom you speak," the German
interrupted; "but I know that, for having allowed the Commandant to
escape, I was condemned to take his place in the prison, and was shut

up there for six months, in solitary confinement, without even seeing
my wife!"
"Poor Captain! How is the lady?" Henry inquired.
"Very well, I thank you."
"Will you permit us to drink her health?"
"Certainly, Monsieur."
"Hock! hoch!" said Henri, lifting his glass.
"Hock! hoch!" responded the ex-jailer, drinking with his former
prisoner.
This delicate toast began to appease the bitterness of the good man;
while the memories of his escape, offering a diversion