The two trombonists were now on their feet, shaking from head to foot while they saluted their general, whose ever-approaching stride struck fresh agony to their hearts. He was roaring:
"Canailles! Imbéciles! A month of prison!" and "Sacré bon Dieu's!" were all jumbled together. "Overslept! Overslept, did you?" he bellowed. "In a château, I'll wager. Parbleu! Where then? Out with it!"
"Pardon, mon général!" chattered Gaston. "It was in the stone house of the American gentleman by the marsh."
We lunched together in my garden at noon. He had grown calm again under the spell of the Burgundy, but Suzette, I feared, would be ill.
"Come, be merciful," I pleaded.
"He is the fiancé of my good Suzette; besides, you must not forget that you were all my guests."
The general shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "They were lucky to have gotten off with a month!" he snapped. "You saw that those little devils were handcuffed?" he asked of his aide.
"Yes, my general, the gendarme attended to them."