nish the vieille lame."

"Punish! Is there fresh disobedience? In my squadron; in my absence?"

He rose instinctively, buckling on the sword which he had put aside.

"Not in your squadron, mon Caporal," said Picpon quickly. "It is not
much, either. Only the bon zig Rac."

"Rake? What has he been doing?"

There was infinite anxiety and vexation in his voice. Rake had recently
been changed into another squadron of the regiment, to his great loss
and regret; for not only did he miss the man's bright face and familiar
voice from the Chambree, but he had much disquietude on the score of his
safety, for Rake was an incorrigible pratique, had only been kept from
scrapes and mischief by Cecil's influence, and even despite that had
been often in hot water, and once even had been drafted for a year or so
of chastisement among the "Zephyrs," a mode of punishment which, but
for its separation of him from his idol, would have given unmitigated
delight to the audacious offender.

"Very little, mon Caporal!" said Picpon eagerly. "A mere nothing--a
bagatelle! Run a Spahi through the stomach, that is all. I don't think
the man is so much as dead, even!"

"I hope not, indeed. When will you cease this brawling among yourselves?
A soldier's blade should never be turned upon men of his own army. How
did it happen?"

"A woman! They quarreled about a little fruit-seller. The Spahi was in
fault. 'Crache-au-nez-d'la-Mort' was there before him; and was preferred
by the girl; and women should be allowed something to do with choosing
their lovers, that I think, though it is true they often take the worst
man. They quarreled; the Spahi drew first; and then, pouf et passe!
quick as thought, Rac lunged through him. He has always a most beautiful
stroke. Le Capitaine Argentier was passing, and made a fuss; else
nothing would have been done. They have put him under arrest; but I
heard them say they would let him free to-night because we should march
at dawn."

"I will go and see him at once."

"Wait, mon Caporal; I have something to tell you," said Picpon quickly.
"The zig has a motive in what he does. Rac wanted to get the prison. He
has done more than one bit of mischief only for that."

"Only for what? He cannot be in love with the prison?"

"It serves his turn," said Picpon mysteriously. "Did you never guess
why, mon Caporal? Well, I have. 'Crache-au-nez-d'la-Mort' is a fine
fearless soldier. The officers know it; the bureaus know it.