histle. _Mon
Dieu!_ Once during the manoeuvres outside of Perigord I found three of
them who refused to sleep on the ground--stole off and begged a lodging
in a chateau, _parbleu!_"

"Ah--indeed?" I stammered meekly.

"Yes, they did," he bellowed, "but I cured them." I saw the muscles in
his neck flush crimson, and tried to change the subject, but in vain.

"If they do that in time of peace, they'll do the same in war," he
thundered.

"Naturally," I murmured, my heart in my throat. The aide-de-camp grunted
his approval while the general ran his hand over the gray bristles on
his scarred head.

"Favours!" roared the general. "Favours, eh? When my men sleep on the
ground in rough weather, I sleep with them. What sort of discipline do
you suppose I'd have if I did not share their hardships time and time
again? Winter campaigns, forced marches--twenty-four hours of it
sometimes in mountain snow. Bah! That is nothing! They need that
training to go through worse, and yet those good fellows of mine,
heavily loaded, never complain. I've seen it so hot, too, that it would
melt a man's boots. It is always one of those imbeciles, then, with
nothing heavier to carry than a clarinet, who slips off to a comfortable
farm."

"_Bien entendu, mon general!_" agreed his aide-de-camp tersely as he
leaned forward and kindled a fresh cigarette over the candle-shade.

Happily I noticed at that moment that the cigarette-box needed
replenishing. It was an excuse at least to leave the room. A moment
later I had tiptoed to the closed kitchen door and stood listening.
Suzette was laughing. The trombonists were evidently very much at ease.
They, too, were laughing. Little pleasantries filtered through the
crack in the heavy door that made me hold my breath. Then I heard the
gurgle of cider poured into a glass, followed swiftly by what I took to
be unmistakably a kiss.

It was all as plain now as Su-Tum-Tum. I dared not break in upon them.
Had I opened the door, the general might have recognized their voices.
Meanwhile, silly nothings were demoralizing the heart of my good
Suzette. She would fall desperately in love with either one or the other
of those _sacre_ virtuosos. Then another thought struck me! One of them
might be Suzette's sweetheart, hailing from her own village, the
manoeuvres at Pont du Sable a lucky meeting for them. A few sentences
that I now hurriedly caught convinced me of my own denseness in not
having my suspicions arou