sed when they singled out my domain and begged
my hospitality.

The situation was becoming critical. By the light of the crack I
scribbled the following:

"Get those two imbeciles of yours hidden in the hay-loft, quick. The
general wants to see the kitchen," and slipped it under the door,
coughing gently in warning.

There was an abrupt silence--the sound of Suzette's slippered feet--and
the scrap of paper disappeared. Then heavy, excited breathing within.

I dashed upstairs and was down again with the cigarettes before the
general had remarked my tardiness to his aide. At midnight I lighted
their candles and saw them safely up to bed. Then I went to my room
fronting the marsh and breathed easier.

"Her sweetheart from her own village," I said to myself as I blew out my
candle. "The other"--I sighed drowsily--"was evidently his cousin. The
mayor was right. I have a bad habit of spoiling people and pets."

Then again my mind reverted to the general. What if he discovered them?
My only consolation now was that to-day had seen the end of the
manoeuvres, and the soldiers would depart by a daylight train in the
morning. I recalled, too, the awkward little speech of thanks for my
hospitality the trombonists had made to me at an opportune moment
before dinner. Finally I fell into a troubled sleep.

Suzette brought me my coffee at seven.

"Luckily the general did not discover them!" I exclaimed when Suzette
had closed the double door of my bedroom.

"_Mon Dieu!_ What danger we have run!" whispered the little maid. "I
could not sleep, monsieur, thinking of it."

"You got them safely to the haymow?" I inquired anxiously.

"Oh! _Mais oui_, monsieur. But then they slept over the cider-press back
of the big casks. Monsieur advised the hay-loft, but they said the roof
leaked. And had it rained, monsieur--"

"See here," I interrupted, eyeing her trim self from head to foot
savagely. "You've known that little devil with the red ears before."

I saw Suzette pale.

"Confess!" I exclaimed hoarsely, with a military gesture of impatience.
"He comes from your village. Is it not so, my child?"

Suzette was silent, her plump hands twisting nervously at her apron
pocket.

"I am right, am I not? I might have guessed as much when they came."

"Oh, monsieur!" Suzette faltered, the tears welling up from the depths
of her clear trustful eyes.

"Is it not so?" I insisted.

"Oh! Oh! _Mon Dieu, oui_," she confessed half audibly.