strove nobly, he told stories, he drank a health to the “Camaraderie of arms,” he drew one after the other of his companions into an interchange of words, if not of sympathies.  But the strain told on him visibly towards the end of the dinner.  His champagne glass had been constantly refilled, his face was now a trifle overflushed, his eyes beyond nature bright, and he loosened the belt about his waist and at a moment when Faversham was not looking the throat buttons of his tunic.  Moreover while up till now he had deprecated any allusions to his reputation he now began to talk of it himself; and in a particularly odious way.

“A reputation, Lieutenant, it has its advantages,” and he blew a kiss with his fingers into the air to designate the sort of advantages to which he referred.  Then he leaned on one side to avoid the candle between Faversham and himself.

“You are English, my Commandant?” he asked.

“My mother was German,” replied Faversham.

“But you are English yourself.  Now have you ever met in England a certain Miss Marian Beveridge,” and his leer was the most disagreeable thing that Faversham ever remembered to have set eyes upon.

“No,” he answered shortly.

“And you have not heard of her?”

“No.”

“Ah!”

Captain Plessy leaned back in his chair and filled his glass.  Lieutenant Faversham’s tone was not that of a man inviting confidence.  But the Captain’s brains were more than a little fuddled, he repeated the name over to himself once or twice with the chuckle which asks for questions, and since the questions did not come, he must needs proceed of his own accord.

“But I must cross to England myself.  I must see this Miss Marian Beveridge.  Ah, but your English girls are strange, name of Heaven, they are very strange.”

Lieutenant Faversham made a movement.  The Captain was his guest, he was bound to save him if he could from a breach of manners and saw no way but this of breaking up the party.  Captain Plessy, however, was too quick for him, he lifted his hand to his breast.

“You wish for something to smoke.  It is true, we have forgotten to smoke, but I have my cigarettes and I beg you to try them, the tobacco I think is good and you will be saved the trouble of moving.”

He opened the case and reached it over to Faversham.  But as Faversham with a word of thanks took a cigarette, the Captain upset the case as though by inadvertence.  There fell out upon the table under Faversham’s eyes not merely the cigarettes, but some of the Captain’s visiting-cards and a letter.  The letter was addressed to Captain Plessy in a firm character but it was plainly the writing of a woman.  Faversham picked it up and at once handed it back to Plessy.

“Ah,” said Plessy with a start of surprise, “Was the letter indeed in the case?” and he fondled it in his hands and finally kissed it with the upturned eyes of a cheap opera singer.  “A pigeon, Sir, flew with it into Paris.  Happy pigeon that could be the bearer of such sweet messages.”