“By the way,” said Victor while the soup plates were being removed, “what do you think of this wine?  It cost me thirty francs the bottle.”

“It tastes very good to me,” Claude replied.  “But then, it’s the first champagne I’ve ever drunk.”

“Really?” Victor drank off another glass and sighed.  “I envy you.  I wish I had it all to do over.  Life’s too short, you know.”

“I should say you had made a good beginning.  We’re a long way from Crystal Lake.”

“Not far enough.”  His host reached across the table and filled Claude’s empty glass.  “I sometimes waken up with the feeling I’m back there.  Or I have bad dreams, and find myself sitting on that damned stool in the glass cage and can’t make my books balance; I hear the old man coughing in his private room, the way he coughs when he’s going to refuse a loan to some poor devil who needs it.  I’ve had a narrow escape, Wheeler; ‘as a brand from the burning’.  That’s all the Scripture I remember.”

The bright red spots on Victor’s cheeks, his pale forehead and brilliant eyes and saucy little moustaches seemed to give his quotation a peculiar vividness.  Claude envied him.  It must be great fun to take up a part and play it to a finish; to believe you were making yourself over, and to admire the kind of fellow you made.  He, too, in a way, admired Victor,—­though he couldn’t altogether believe in him.

“You’ll never go back,” he said, “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Take it from me, there are thousands who will never go back!  I’m not speaking of the casualties.  Some of you Americans are likely to discover the world this trip... and it’ll make the hell of a lot of difference!  You boys never had a fair chance.  There’s a conspiracy of Church and State to keep you down.  I’m going off to play with some girls tonight, will you come along?”

Claude laughed.  “I guess not.”

“Why not?  You won’t be caught, I guarantee.”

“I guess not.”  Claude spoke apologetically.  “I’m going out to see Fanning after dinner.”

Victor shrugged.  “That ass!” He beckoned the waiter to open another bottle and bring the coffee.  “Well, it’s your last chance to go nutting with me.”  He looked intently at Claude and lifted his glass.  “To the future, and our next meeting!” When he put down his empty goblet he remarked, “I got a wire through today; I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“For London?”

“For Verdun.”

Claude took a quick breath.  Verdun... the very sound of the name was grim, like the hollow roll of drums.  Victor was going there tomorrow.  Here one could take a train for Verdun, or thereabouts, as at home one took a train for Omaha.  He felt more “over” than he had done before, and a little crackle of excitement went all through him.  He tried to be careless: 

“Then you won’t get to London soon?”

“God knows,” Victor answered gloomily.  He looked up at the ceiling and began to whistle softly an engaging air.  “Do you know that?  It’s something Maisie often plays; ‘Roses of Picardy.’  You won’t know what a woman can be till you meet her, Wheeler.”