"The lieutenant is dressing," replied the orderly to his question.
Von Farnow in shirt and trousers was dressing before paying certain calls, and going to the officers' casino. In trousers and shirt he was leaning over his toilet-table with its bevelled glass, washing his face. The room was perfumed with eau-de-cologne, brushes and manicure set were strewn round him. He turned as the door opened, his face all wet.
"What is the matter, Hamm?" he cried, seizing a towel.
"I took upon myself to call upon you, lieutenant, as the captain is not there, and Oberlé——"
"Oberlé? What has he done?" Farnow interrupted nervously.
"He has not put in an appearance since half-past eleven this morning."
Farnow, who was drying his face, threw down the towel violently on the table, and approached the non-commissioned officer. He remembered Madame Oberlé's fears. "He thinks as I do," thought Hamm.
"Has not come back? Have you been to the rue des Balayeurs?"
"Yes, lieutenant; he left the house in a cab at ten minutes to twelve."
The young lieutenant felt as though death's icy hand was on his heart. He closed his eyes for a moment, and with a violent effort regained his composure.