Vinson's chief companions were some non-commissioned officers, a little better off than he was.... Without being lavish in their expenditure, these young fellows did not reckon up their every penny, and, not wishing to be behindhand, Vinson had sent to his mother for money again and again, and she had kept him in funds.
On this particular evening, after the concert, they had invited some of the performers to supper in a private room, and Vinson, in the course of the entertainment, was attracted, fascinated, by a tall girl with dyed hair, emaciated cheeks, and brilliant eyes, whose flashy manners smacking of some low suburb, had subjugated him completely.
Vinson made an impression on the singer, for she did not respond to the advances of a swaggering sergeant, reputed generous, but turned her attentions to the modest corporal.
They talked, and they discovered they were affinities. The result was they found themselves at daybreak on the deserted boulevard of Châlons. The corporal's leave did not expire till the evening of the following day. Nichoune offered him hospitality: they became lovers.
Vinson's heart was in this liaison: he persuaded himself that the chain that bound them was indissoluble. The singer's idea was to profit by it. Her demands for money were constant: she harried her lover for money.
Little by little, Vinson's mother cut off supplies: the corporal, incapable of breaking with Nichoune, ran up debts in the town.
"But," went on Vinson, "this is only the beginning. I have told you this, Monsieur, with the hope of excusing myself to a certain extent for what I did later on. My actions were the outcome and consequences of my difficulties."
"Something serious?" questioned Fandor.
"You shall judge of that, Monsieur."
Vinson went on with his confession in a firmer tone. Fandor realised that the corporal had decided to make a clean breast of it.