“‘You were at Mademoiselle’s house last night?’ he asked.
“‘Surely,’ said I, ‘did we not meet there?’
“‘Ah, I remember that we did. Then you know nothing of the ill news she has received?’
“‘Diavolo,’ cried I, ‘ill news—and whence comes that?’
“‘That is what I want to ask you. The devil take me if I can make head or tail of it. I left her after the rehearsal just as merry as a girl could be—and here to-day she has the face of a nun. It cannot be that her cut-throat of a husband is troubling her, for he is not in Vienna. It is something else, old Andrea, and you must help me to find it out.’
“He filled my glass as he spoke, and lighting a cigarette he threw himself back in his chair, a picture of boyish concern which amused me to see.
“‘Nom du diable,’ said I, ‘it is easy to talk of finding it out, but he who runs after a woman’s whims must wear thick boots. She had no letter that you know of?’
“‘If she had she kept it from me. And that’s what I complain of. She tells me nothing. I hear hints all day, but devil of a word which would let me help her. If she would only talk to me, everything would be right in five minutes. But she won’t. That’s her obstinacy, my friend.’
“He began to drum upon the table with his hands, and to put on an air of ferocity, as much as to say: ‘Oh, I will deal with it—and then!’ I, on my part, while his tragedy air tickled me, fell to wondering what news Christine had heard; and suddenly I divined the truth: the Count of Jézero was in Vienna!
“‘Lieutenant,’ said I presently, ‘Christine has told you nothing of her friends at Jézero?’