CHAPTER XXII
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
The life of General de Prerolles was uniformly regulated. He arose at dawn, and worked until the arrival of his courier; then he mounted his horse, attired in morning military costume.
After his ride, he visited the quartermaster-general of his division, received the report of his chief of staff, and gave necessary orders. It was at this place, and never at the General's own dwelling, that the captains or subaltern officers presented themselves when they had occasion to speak to him.
At midday he returned to breakfast at the Hotel de Montgeron where, morning and evening, his plate was laid; and soon after this meal he retired to his own quarters to work with his orderly, whose duty it was to report to him regarding the numerous guns and pieces of heavy ordnance which make the object of much going and coming in military life.
After signing 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 to Henri's mind, put him in sympathetic humor with the stranger.
"'Ah! There are mountains that we never climb but once,'" he said. "We three, meeting in Paris, can prove the truth of that proverb."
"Not only in Paris," said Lenaieff. "If you were in Saint Petersburg,
Henri, you might, any evening, see your old flame, Fanny Dorville."
"Does she keep a table d'hote?"
"No, indeed, my boy. She plays duenna at the Theatre Michel, as that fat Heloise used to do at the Palais-Royal. She must have died long ago, that funny old girl!"
"Not at all. She is still living, and is a pensioner of the Association of Dramatic Artists! But, pardon me, our conversation can hardly be amusing to our guest."
"No one can keep a Frenchman and a Russian from talking about women! The habit is stronger than themselves!" said the old officer, with a hearty laugh.
"Well, and you, Captain," said Lenaieff: "Have you not also trodden the primrose path in your time?"
"Gentlemen, I never have loved any other woman than my own wife," replied the honest German, laying his large hand upon his heart, as if he were taking an oath. "That astonishes you Parisians, eh?" he added benevolently.
"Quite the contrary! It assures us peace of mind!" said Lenaieff. "To your health, Captain!"
"And yours, Messieurs!"
And their glasses clinked a second time.
"Apropos," said Lenaieff to Henri, "the military governor has asked me to accompany him to-morrow to the review at Vincennes. I shall then have the pleasure of seeing you at the head of your division."
"Teufel!" exclaimed the German officer; "it appears that the Commandant de Prerolles has lost no time since we took leave of each other."
"Thanks to you, Monsieur! Had you not allowed me to withdraw from your society, I should certainly not have reached my present rank! To your health, Captain!"
"To yours, General!"
Succeeding bumpers finally dissipated entirely the resentment of the former jailer, and when they parted probably never to meet again—he and his prisoner had become the best friends in the world.
"Meine besten complimente der Frau Hauptmannin!" said Henri to him, in leaving him on the boulevard.
"Lieber Gott! I shall take good care not to own to her that I dined with you."
"And why, pray?"
"Because there is one thing for which she never will forgive you."
"What is that?"
"The fact that you were the cause of her living alone for six months!"