you soon ... especially as Morestal
likes going to bed early. They will leave the house at ten o'clock
precisely; and I will go a bit of the way with them, as far as the
Butte."

"That's it," said Morestal. "We shall see the demolished post by
moonlight. And we shall be here by half-past ten, mother. That's a
promise. Off you go, Victor."

The carriage drove off. Dourlowski, in the drawing-room, took out his
watch and set it by the clock, whispering:

"Consequently, they'll reach the Butte at a quarter past ten. That's a
good thing to know. And now to inform old Morestal that his friend
Dourlowski has come to hunt him up in his happy home."

Putting two of his fingers to his mouth, he gave the same faint whistle
which Morestal had heard that morning, something like the unfinished
note of certain birds:

"That's done it," he grinned. "The old boy pricked up his ears. He has
sent the others for a stroll in the garden and he's coming this way...."

He made a movement backwards on hearing Morestal's footstep in the hall,
for he knew the old fellow was not given to joking. And, in fact,
Morestal, the moment he entered, ran up to him and took him by the
collar of his jacket:

"What are you doing here? What do you mean by it? How dare you?... I'll
show you a road which you don't know of!"

Dourlowski began to laugh with his crooked mouth:

"My dear M. Morestal, you'll dirty your hands."

His clothes were shiny and thick with grease, stretched over a small
round body, that contrasted strangely with his lean and bony face. And
all this formed a jovial, grotesque and rather alarming picture.

Morestal let go his hold and, in an imperative tone:

"Explain yourself and quickly. I don't want my son to see you here.
Speak."

There was no time to be lost, as Dourlowski saw:

"Well, look here," he said. "It's a question of a young soldier in the
Boersweilen garrison. He's too unhappy for words where he is ... and he's
mad at having to serve Germany."

"A ne'er-do-well," growled Morestal. "A slacker who doesn't want to
work."

"No, not this one, I tell you, not this one. He means to enlist in the
Foreign Legion. He loves France."

"Yes, always the same story. And then--pah!--one never hears of them
again. More gallows' seed!"

Dourlowski seemed shocked and scandalized:

"How can you say such a thing, M. Morestal?... If you only knew! A brave
soldier who asks nothing better than to die fighting for our country."