"Not yet, sergeant; I expect him on the eight-thirty train."
"It is about Corporal Stein, madame; he has overstayed his pass."
"I presume Mr. Waring should be told. Have you seen him?"
"Madame, the lieutenant is neither at his quarters nor the mess."
"Then there is nothing further to be done that I know of," said Mrs. Truscott, whose girlhood had been passed in garrison at times, and whose earliest recollections were of papa's dragoons. "I will tell the captain as soon as he returns." And she stepped backward towards the chairs.
The sergeant paused one moment. He was tall, lithe, of graceful and muscular mould; his face was of the singular Saxon cast,—so very fair; his eyes were blue and clear, his nose and mouth finely shaped; his teeth were white and even, his hair crisp and curly, and the very color of bleached straw, but redeemed from that dead, soda-dried effect by the sheen of every lock; his face was oval; clean-shaved but for the upper lip, whose long, blond moustache twirled trooper-fashion till the ends almost swept his ears. He was a handsome fellow, and his manners and language bespoke him a man of education. After the moment's hesitation, he again touched his cap and quitted the little garden, walking with quick, brisk steps and erect carriage away towards the upper end of the row.
Mrs. Truscott stood silently looking after him a moment, then she turned:
"Did you notice his hands, Marion?"
"Certainly; I did the first time I saw him, and he is always here. You say Wolf is an assumed name?"
"Yes. Jack says there can be no question but that he is an educated German officer who has had to quit the service there for some crime or trouble. He came here just when I did, last December; and Jack says he is the finest first sergeant he ever saw, though I believe the men don't fancy him. He speaks French as well as he does English, and there is apparently nothing he does not know about cavalry service."