Thus it was that when Hippolyte Lariviere, the cornet-player of the Palais de Cinema, ascended the stairs to his eerie on the top-floor of 10 bis the following evening the appetising odour of frying batter enveloped him as a garment.  He sniffed appreciatively.

“Le gros Bonneton can eat crepes freely without considering the effect on his temperament,” he said.  “One sometimes regrets the demands of Art.”

Outside the Coghlans’ door another idea struck him.  “The essence of a present lies not in its value but its appropriateness.  A few crepes on Mardi Gras would be a novel acknowledgment to the Sergeant-Major of his liberality in the way of cigarettes.  At present my case is empty.”

Retracing his steps he went to the Cafe aux Gourmets and persuaded the proprietaire to prepare half-a-dozen crepes with all possible speed and send them piping-hot to his room in exchange for a promise of his influence in getting her on the free list of the Cinema.  Then, in a glow of virtue, he returned to prepare his toilette for the evening performance.

It was while Hippolyte was dabbing his cheeks with a damp towel that M’sieur Bonneton and Sergeant-Major Coghlan, having comfortably satisfied their respective appetites with crepes and pancakes, proceeded to call upon each other, bearing gifts.  The dignity of the presentations was impaired by the fact that they almost collided on the stairs.

“Mrs. Coghlan wud like your opinion on these pancakes,” said the Sergeant-Major, dexterously fielding one that was sliding from the plate.

“And permit me to beg your acceptance of these crepes, a dish peculiar to France and eaten as a matter of custom on Mardi Gras,” said M’sieur in his most correct English, producing his plate with a flourish worthy of a head-waiter.

“’Tis with all the pleasure in life we’ll be tasting thim—­” commenced Coghlan.  Then his eye fell on the dish and his voice dropped.  M’sieur was also showing signs of embarrassment.

“It seems crepes is but another name for pancakes,” said the Sergeant-Major heavily, after a pause.

“But yes—­and I am already filled to repletion.”

“We’ve aiten our fill too, Peggy an’ me, an’ they’re spoilt whin they’re cowld.  It’s severely disappointed Peggy will be to find thim wasted.”

“And Madame will be desolated to despair.”

They stared blankly at each other for a few minutes.  Then M’sieur took a heroic resolve.

“We must not hurt the feelings of those excellent women,” he said firmly.  “There is but one course open to us.”

Coghlan nodded assent.  Solemnly and without enthusiasm they sat on the stairs and consumed the pancakes to the last crumb.  Then, leaden-eyed and breathing hard, they took their empty plates and entered their respective flats.

A few minutes later they again encountered on the stairs.  Once more they were laden with comestibles.