going to bloom."

At once the accordion player added.

"And the potatoes are going to sprout!"

They identified each other.

The two men were alone in this deserted corner of the garden; they
drew closer together and began to converse.

"Are things still going well, Vagualame?"

"My faith, Monsieur Henri, that depends."...

The old accordion player cast a rapid penetrating glance at the
countenance of his companion: it was done with the instinctive ease of
habit.

The young man was leaning forward, tracing circles in the sand with
his stick.

"What is the position, Vagualame?" he asked briefly.

"I have no more money, Lieutenant."

The young man sat upright and looked at the old man angrily.

"What has come to you? There is no lieutenant here--I am M. Henri, and
nothing else! Do I trouble myself to find out who you are, Vagualame?"

"Oh," protested the old man, "that's enough! Do not be afraid, I
understand my business: you know my devotion! Unfortunately it costs a
great deal!"

"Yes," replied Henri de Loubersac--for he it was--"Yes, I know you are
always hard up."

"Shall I have money soon?" insisted Vagualame.

"That depends.... How are things going?"

"Which things?"

The lieutenant showed impatience. Was Vagualame's stupid, silly manner
intentional?

Assuredly, that handsome fellow, that dashing soldier, Henri de
Loubersac, knew nothing of this same Vagualame's relations with
Bobinette, nor his attitude towards that mysterious accomplice of his
whom he had just assassinated, or pretended to have assassinated,
Captain Brocq. Thus Vagualame had two strings to his bow, serving at
one and the same time the Second Bureau and, most probably, its
bitterest adversaries.

"Vagualame, you really are a fool," went on de Loubersac. "What I
refer to is the V. affair: how does it stand--what has been done?"

The old man began to laugh.

"Peuh! Nothing at all! Another rigmarole in which women are mixed up!
You know the little singer of Chalons, called Nichoune? She made her
first appearance at La Fere, and since then the creature has roved
through the rowdy dancing-saloons of Picardy, of the Ardennes--you
must know her well, Monsieur Henri."

The lieutenant interrupted him.

"All this does not mean anything, Vagualame!"

"Pardon! Nichoune is the mistress of Corporal V.--he is on leave, the
corporal is."...

"I know, he is in Paris."

"Well, then, what do you wish me to do?"

"You must go t