" Valentine exclaimed.

The General made a sign to his orderly, who approached to receive his
instructions.

"Tell the brigadier-generals that I am about to depart. I need no more
escort than two cavalrymen for General Lenaieff and myself. Now I am
ready, Mademoiselle," Henri continued, turning toward Valentine. "If you
will be guided by me, we should do well to reach the fortifications by
way of the Lake of Saint-Mande."

She made a little sound with her tongue, and the two cobs set off in the
direction indicated, the crowds they passed stopping to admire their high
action, and asking one another who was that pretty woman who was escorted
by two generals, the one French, the other a foreigner.

"I must look like a treaty of peace in a Franco-Russian alliance!" said
Zibeline, gayly.

The sun shone brightly, the new leaves were quivering on the trees, the
breeze bore to the ear the echo of the military bands.

Animated by the sound, the two cobs went ahead at a great pace, but they
were kept well in hand by their mistress, who was dressed this morning in
a simple navy-blue costume, with a small, oval, felt hat, ornamented with
two white wings, set on in a manner that made the wearer resemble a
valkyrie. Her whip, an unnecessary accessory, lay across the seat at her
right, on which side of the carriage Henri rode.

The General's eyes missed none of the graceful movements of the young
girl. And his reflections regarding her, recently interrupted, returned
in full force, augmenting still more his regret at the inexorable fate
that separated him from her. "What a pity!" he thought in his turn,
repeating unconsciously the phrase so often uttered by his sister.

Arrived at the Place du Trene, Valentine stopped her horses a moment, and
addressed her two cavaliers:

"I thank you for your escort, gentlemen. But however high may be your
rank, I really can not go through Paris looking like a prisoner between
two gendarmes! So good-by! I shall see you this evening perhaps, but
good-by for the present."

They gave her a military salute, and the carriage disappeared in the
Faubourg St. Antoine, while the two horsemen followed the line of the
quays along the Boulevard Diderot.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE CHALLENGE

That person who, in springtime, between ten o'clock and midday, never has
walked beside the bridle-path in the Bois de Boulogne, under the deep
shade of the trees, can form no idea of the large number of equestr