Part 20 (2/2)

”Soloist?” I asked grimly.

”No, monsieur--tailor for ladies. We shall live in Paris,” she added, and for an instant her eyes sparkled; then again their gaze reverted to the now sadly twisted ap.r.o.n pocket, for I was silent.

”No more Suzette then!” I said to myself. No more merry, willing little maid-of-all-work! No more hot mussels steaming in a savory sauce! Her puree of peas, her tomato farcies, the stuffed artichokes, and her coffee the like of which never before existed, would vanish with the rest. But true love cannot be argued. There was nothing to do but to hold out my hand in forgiveness. As I did so the general rang for his coffee.

”_Mon Dieu!_” gasped Suzette. ”He rings.” And flew down to her kitchen.

An hour later the general was sauntering leisurely up the road through the village over his morning cigar. The daylight train, followed rapidly by four extra sections, had cleared Pont du Sable of all but two of the red-trousered infantry--my trombonists! They had arrived an hour and twenty minutes late, winded and demoralized. They sat together outside the locked station unable to speak, pale and panic-stricken.

The first object that caught the general's eye as he slowly turned into the square by the little station was their four red-trousered legs--then he caught the glint of their two bra.s.s trombones. The next instant heads appeared at the windows. It was as if a bomb had suddenly exploded in the square.

The two trombonists were now on their feet, shaking from head to foot while they saluted their general, whose ever-approaching stride struck fresh agony to their hearts. He was roaring:

”_Canailles! Imbeciles!_ A month of prison!” and ”_Sacre bon Dieu's!_”

were all jumbled together. ”Overslept! Overslept, did you?” he bellowed.

”In a chateau, I'll wager. _Parbleu!_ Where then? Out with it!”

”_Pardon, mon general!_” chattered Gaston. ”It was in the stone house of the American gentleman by the marsh.”

We lunched together in my garden at noon. He had grown calm again under the spell of the Burgundy, but Suzette, I feared, would be ill.

”Come, be merciful,” I pleaded.

”He is the fiance of my good Suzette; besides, you must not forget that you were all my guests.”

The general shrugged his shoulders helplessly. ”They were lucky to have gotten off with a month!” he snapped. ”You saw that those little devils were handcuffed?” he asked of his aide.

”Yes, my general, the gendarme attended to them.”

”You were my guests,” I insisted. ”Hold me responsible if you wish.”

”Hold _you_ responsible!” he exclaimed. ”But you are a foreigner--it would be a little awkward.”

”It is my good Suzette,” I continued, ”that I am thinking of.”

He leaned back in his chair, and for a moment again ran his hands thoughtfully over the bristles of his scarred head. He had a daughter of his own.

”The coffee,” I said gently to my unhappy Suzette as she pa.s.sed.

”_Oui! Oui_, monsieur,” she sighed, then suddenly mustering up her courage, she gasped:

”_Oh, mon general!_ Is it true, then, that Gaston must go to jail? _Ah!

Mon Dieu!_”

”_Eh bien_, my girl! It will not kill him, _Sapristi!_ He will be a better soldier for it.”

”Be merciful,” I pleaded.