“The field is easy.  After our delightful continental capitals, where, as you know, one is never quite sure of one’s self, it is pleasant to breathe the democratic airs of Washington,” remarked Chauvenet.

“Particularly so, my dear friend, when one is blessed with your delightful social gifts.  I envy you your capacity for making others happy.”

There was a keen irony in the fellow’s tongue and the edge of it evidently touched Chauvenet, who scowled and bent forward with his fingers on the table.

“Enough of that, if you please.”

“As you will, carino; but you will pardon me for offering my condolences on the regrettable departure of la belle Americaine.  If you had not been so intent on matters of state you would undoubtedly have found her here.  As it is, you are now obliged to see her on her native soil.  A month in Washington may do much for you.  She is beautiful and reasonably rich.  Her brother, the tall captain, is said to be the best horseman in the American army.”

“Humph!  He is an ass,” ejaculated Chauvenet.

A servant now appeared bearing a fresh bottle of cordial.  He was distinguished by a small head upon a tall and powerful body, and bore little resemblance to a house servant.  While he brushed the cigar ashes from the table the men continued their talk without heeding him.

Chauvenet and his friend had spoken from the first in French, but in addressing some directions to the servant, the blond, who assumed the role of host, employed a Servian dialect.

“I think we were saying that the mortality list in certain directions will have to be stimulated a trifle before we can do our young friend Francis any good.  You have business in America, carino.  That paper we filched from old Stroebel strengthens our hold on Francis; but there is still that question as to Karl and Frederick Augustus.  Our dear Francis is not satisfied.  He wishes to be quite sure that his dear father and brother are dead.  We must reassure him, dearest Jules.”

“Don’t be a fool, Durand.  You never seem to understand that the United States of America is a trifle larger than a barnyard.  And I don’t believe those fellows are over there.  They’re probably lying in wait here somewhere, ready to take advantage of any opportunity,—–­that is, if they are alive.  A man can hardly fail to be impressed with the fact that so few lives stand between him and—­”

“The heights—­the heights!” And the young man, whom Chauvenet called Durand, lifted his tiny glass airily.

“Yes; the heights,” repeated Chauvenet a little dreamily.

“But that declaration—­that document!  You have never honored me with a glimpse; but you have it put safely away, I dare say.”

“There is no place—­but one—­that I dare risk.  It is always within easy reach, my dear friend.”

“You will do well to destroy that document.  It is better out of the way.”