Then he dismissed the subject from his mind. Schneider seemed contented, and if he did want to escape, he would without doubt have told the fact to his one friend in the Legion—Jacques.
One day, some two months later, Schneider took Jacques aside.
"You have asked me once or twice," said he, "about my nationality and the place where I came from. I told you I was an Austrian and that was the truth. I am, in fact, a Viennese. My family is one of the oldest in Austria and I left my home and forsook my position on account of an unfortunate love affair. You are my friend, and so I tell you this, trusting that you will keep my secret."
Jacques, greatly flattered by the confidence of the other, swore eternal secrecy, and Schneider went on:
"The girl I loved," said he, "was my equal socially, young, charming, wealthy; she had discarded the attention of half Vienna, had chosen me just as I had chosen her by that instantaneous power of selection which Love alone bestows."
"Oui, oui," said Jacques, scarcely understanding all this and quite at a loss before the melodramatic language of the other, who, in fact, seemed reciting some passage out of a cheap novel rather than some experience from his own life.
"Everything went well," continued Schneider, "till one fatal day we quarrelled."
"Ah, mon Dieu," said Jacques. "You quarrelled; and what did you quarrel about?"
"That I cannot tell you," replied Schneider, "It is a matter I do not care to refer to; it is sufficient that we quarrelled. I could not endure life any longer, I left my country and, seeking an active life, I came here."
"You certainly have got what you came to look for," said Jacques; "and what has become of her; does she know where you are?"