nt out, and
almost the first person he set eyes on in the Place Turenne was Captain
Beaudoin. When pretty Madame Maginot was living at Charleville the year
before the captain had been one of her best friends, and Gilberte had
introduced him to her husband before they were married. Rumor had it
that the captain had abdicated his position as first favorite and made
way for the cloth merchant from motives of delicacy, not caring to stand
in the way of the great good fortune that seemed coming to his fair
friend.

"Hallo, is that you?" exclaimed Delaherche. "Good Heavens, what a state
you're in!"

It was but too true; the dandified Beaudoin, usually so trim and spruce,
presented a sorry spectacle that morning in his soiled uniform and with
his grimy face and hands. Greatly to his disgust he had had a party of
Turcos for traveling companions, and could not explain how he had become
separated from his company. Like all the others he was ready to drop
with fatigue and hunger, but that was not what most afflicted him; he
had not been able to change his linen since leaving Rheims, and was
inconsolable.

"Just think of it!" he wailed, "those idiots, those scoundrels, lost
my baggage at Vouziers. If I ever catch them I will break every bone in
their body! And now I haven't a thing, not a handkerchief, not a pair of
socks! Upon my word, it is enough to make one mad!"

Delaherche was for taking him home to his house forthwith, but he
resisted. No, no; he was no longer a human being, he would not frighten
people out of their wits. The manufacturer had to make solemn oath that
neither his wife nor his mother had risen yet; and besides he should
have soap, water, linen, everything he needed.

It was seven o'clock when Captain Beaudoin, having done what he could
with the means at his disposal to improve his appearance, and comforted
by the sensation of wearing under his uniform a clean shirt of his
host's, made his appearance in the spacious, high-ceiled dining room
with its somber wainscoting. The elder Madame Delaherche was already
there, for she was always on foot at daybreak, notwithstanding she was
seventy-eight years old. Her hair was snowy white; in her long, lean
face was a nose almost preternaturally thin and sharp and a mouth
that had long since forgotten how to laugh. She rose, and with stately
politeness invited the captain to be seated before one of the cups of
_cafe au lait_ that stood on the table.

"But, perhaps,