"Let me make a confession," he said with a courteous bow. "This is my 'very sick friend.' Pitchouné was at the point of death the night of your dinner and I was just leaving the house when I realized that the helpless little chap could not weather the breeze without me. He had been run over by a bicycle and he needed some very special care."
Miss Redmond's hand was on Pitchouné's head, between his pointed ears. She looked sympathetic. She looked amused. She smiled.
"It was a question of 'life and death,' wasn't it?" she said eagerly to Sabron.
"Really, it was just that," answered the young officer, not knowing how significant the words were to the two ladies.
Then Madame d'Esclignac knew that she was beaten and that she owed something and was ready to pay. The chauffeur got up on his seat and she asked suavely:
"Won't you let us take you home, Monsieur Sabron?"
He thanked them. He was walking and had not finished his exercise.
"At all events," she pursued, "now that your excuse is no longer a good one, you will come this week to dinner, will you not?"
He would, of course, and watched the yellow motor drive away in the autumn sunlight, wishing rather less for the order from the minister of war to change his quarters than he had before.