"Oh, yes, Monsieur."
Fandor would have liked to find out the exact nature of Bobinette's intimacy with the ill-fated officer, also to what extent she was in love with Henri de Loubersac; but, as she showed by her manner that she did not relish this talk, either because of the turn it had taken, or because it was held in a public place, Fandor had to take his leave. Bobinette went off. Fandor noted the time as he continued his saunter. It was a quarter to twelve. Of the few passers-by there was not one who merited a second glance or thought!... Impatiently he waited, five, ten minutes: at one o'clock he betook himself to his hotel. There he found an express message, unsigned. It ran:
"My darling, my dear love, forgive me for not meeting you this morning in the rue de Rivoli, as arranged. It was impossible. Return to the same place at two o'clock, I will be punctual, I promise you.... Of course you will wear your uniform. I want to see how handsome you look in it!"
"I do not like this," thought Fandor, rereading the message. "Why ask me to come in uniform?... Do they know I came in mufti this morning?... I shall go again; but I think it is high time I returned to civilian life!"
It was two by the clock on the refuge, in the rue de Rivoli. Fandor-Vinson emerged from the Metropolitan and crossed to the corner of the rue Castiglione. He took a few steps under the arcade, saying to himself:
"Punctual to the tick and in uniform! The meeting should come off all right this time!"
A delicately gloved hand was placed on his shoulder, and a voice said:
"My dear Corporal! How are you?"
Fandor-Vinson turned sharply and faced—a priest!... He recognised the abbé. It was he of the Verdun motor-car.