A fait rire tout Paris, ris, ris.”
His friend! And he would find her at Versailles no doubt when the campaign was over. How long would she stay there, this ambitious bourgeoise?
“Monsieur le Lieutenant is sad.” Some one had touched his arm. Ah! only a little vivandière whom he did not recognise. “Monsieur le Vicomte has left his mistress behind and he is sad,” she protested, kneeling beside him and peering with bright eyes into his ruffled visage.
“Run away, my dear,” André replied sleepily. “I am poor, tired, and in a sad temper.”
“And I am poor, fresh, and in a charming temper,” she retorted. “If Monsieur le Vicomte has left his mistress behind there are still many women in the world. Here is one!” She began to hum the refrain of the song with the archest drollery: “A fait rire tout Paris, ris, ris.”
André sat up. An appetising little vivandière this, name of a dog! Plump and most bravely tricked out in a military coat and short skirt which revealed what would have made two dancers’ fortunes.
“If I give you a kiss will you go?” he said good-humouredly.
“Oh, no. The kisses of Monsieur le Vicomte are no better than those of most men, I suppose.”
“Then stay without them.” He closed his eyes and lay down again.
“My thanks,” she nodded, gaily throwing back her short cloak so as to reveal that her blue coat was open at the throat and suggested a chemisette strangely fine for a vivandière. Then she bent over him. “Would you do a service for Mademoiselle the Marquise de Beau Séjour?” André sat up, sharply. “Would you do the King a service?” she whispered. “Mon Dieu! how those women bleat! Come this way, Vicomte, I have something to say to you—a secret.” She blew him a kiss from saucy finger-tips.