fascination is so overwhelming as to cause
the sanest of lovers to commit themselves, whence comes the slightly
vulgar expression, "He has lost his bearings." Henri began to feel that
he was in this state when he presented himself at Zibeline's home. A
domestic informed him that Mademoiselle had been absent a week, but was
expected home that evening. He left his card, regretting that he had not
waited twenty-four hours more.

It was now the middle of April, the time when the military governor
of Paris is accustomed to pass in review the troops stationed on the
territory under his command, and this review was to take place the next
morning.

The order for the mobilizing of his own division having been received
and transmitted, Henri's evening was his own, and he resolved to pass it
with Lenaieff, feeling certain that his colleague at least would speak
to him of Zibeline.

The aide-de-camp general lived at the Hotel Continental, much frequented
by Russians of distinction. Henri found his friend just dressing for
dinner, and well disposed to accept his proposition.

As they descended the stairs, they passed an imposing elderly man, with
white moustache and imperial, still very erect in his long redingote
with military buttons--a perfect type of the German officer who gets
himself up to look like the late Emperor William I. This officer and
the French general stopped on the stairs, each eyeing the other without
deciding whether he ought to salute or not, as often happens with people
who think they recognize some one, but without being able to recall
where or in what circumstances they have met before.

It was Henri whose memory was first revived.

"Captain, you are my prisoner!" he said, gayly, seizing the stranger by
the collar.

"What! The Commandant de Prerolles!" cried the elderly man, in
a reproachful tone, from which fifteen years had not removed the
bitterness.

"I know who he is!" said Lenaieff. "Monsieur is your former jailer of
the frontier fortress!"

The officer of the landwehr attempted to withdraw from the hand that
held him.

"Oh, I don't intend to let you escape! You are coming to dine with
us, and we will sign a treaty of peace over the dessert," said Henri,
clasping the officer's hand affectionately.

His tone was so cordial that the stranger allowed himself to be
persuaded. A quarter of an hour later all three were seated at a table
in the Cafe Anglais.

"I present to you General Lenaief