A Man in Uniform Read Online Free PDF Page B

income. Not that he resented this, since he lacked the imagination to think of any other life and was perfectly content with the company of his fellow officers, his pretty wife, and his two rather silly daughters and their many friends.
    “Dubon! Over here!” he croaked in a stage whisper as he tugged on the lawyer’s arm. He pulled Dubon toward him and then stepped behind him so that he was partly hidden from view. “Come and protect me from the captain. He’s off on one of his rants.”
    And indeed, Captain Jean-Marie de Ronchaud Valcourt, the earnest younger brother whom Geneviève still affectionately called Jean-Jean, could be seen steaming across the salon in their direction, though he sailed by without a glance. His target, they realized, was General Fiteau, who was now standing with Masson but had also been joined by a lady, perhaps his partner for the next dance. They watched as Jean-Jean saluted his superior sharply before launching into a long preamble.
    “He’s got some bee in his bonnet about the artillery,” the major explained, as he and Dubon eavesdropped tactfully from a distance. “Something about making the field guns quicker to reload if you could stop the recoil. He’s probably right. He usually is, but it’s beyond me.” Jean-Jean, a young captain in the artillery with a passion for his guns, had inherited his father’s professional understanding of war but lacked his tactical skills in dealing with the world beyond the battlefield. He was now clearly bothering his host.
    “The recoil on the new 120 is ferocious, General,” they heard Jean-Jean say. “It just hasn’t lived up to our hopes. We are still wasting precious moments repositioning the guns and reloading them after we have fired. It’s really a question of the brakes. The right advances in hydraulics—”
    The general cut him off: “We mustn’t bore the ladies with these technical matters, Captain. I’m sure what you say is right; you must take it to your superiors.”
    “I have spoken to—”
    “I owe the marquise this dance,” the general said decisively, turning to the lady and leading her away.
    “What do you say, Dubon? Shall we rescue the boy?” the major inquired as they watched his brother now tagging after the general and the marquise.
    “Captain,” the major bellowed. “We need you over here. You’ve got to settle a little dispute I’m having with dear Dubon.”
    Jean-Jean turned toward the sound of his brother’s voice and, in response to some frantic waving from the major, beat a rather awkward retreat toward them.
    “I was just explaining to the general that the point is the brakes—” he began, but his brother stopped him.
    “The general doesn’t want to hear about your mad schemes, and neither do we. Tell Dubon something funny. He was forced to dance with Madame Verry and must be in dire need of some entertainment.”
    “But really, it can be done.” Jean-Jean, not a man well equipped to produce jokes on demand, was not to be dissuaded from his original topic. “Major, at the very least you must care about the recoil because it frightens the horses. The last time I was on maneuvers—”
    “Captain,” his brother interrupted, for in public the family was in the habit of addressing one another by their military titles. “Really, if your idea is so clever, why are you parading it about at a party? Do you want those spies over there to hear you?” The major cocked his head toward a pair of dandies who had positioned themselves at the edge of the dance floor.
    “Spies!” Jean-Jean was appalled. “How do you know they are spies?”
    “Well, that’s Schwarzkoppen from the German embassy and that’s Panizzardi from the Italian. They are busy spying for their countries; that’s what they do.”
    “But, Major, you must warn our host—”
    “Jean-Jean.” His older brother smiled indulgently. “General Fiteau
invited
them. He knows they are spies. Everybody does. All the military