The day at last arrived, and restored to something like his former self, Trevanion once more appeared in the mess-room of his regiment.  Amid the many sincere and hearty congratulations on his recovered looks, were not a few half-expressed hints that he might not go much out into the world for some little time to come.  To these friendly admonitions Trevanion replied by a good-humoured laugh, and a ready assurance that he understood the intended kindness, and felt in no wise disposed to be invalided again.  “In fact,” said he, “I have come up here to enjoy life a little, not to risque it; but, among the sights of your gay capital, I must certainly have a peep at your famed captain, of whom I have heard too much not to feel an interest in him.”

Notwithstanding the many objections to this, made with a view to delay his visit to the Philidor to a later period, it was at length agreed, that they should all repair to the cafe that evening, but upon the express understanding that every cause of quarrel should be strictly avoided, and that their stay should be merely sufficient to satisfy Trevanion’s curiosity as to the personnel of the renomme captain.

It was rather before the usual hour of the cafe’s filling, that a number of English officers, among whom was Trevanion, entered the “salon” of the “Philidor;” having determined not to attract any unusual attention, they broke into little knots and parties of threes and fours, and dispersed through the room, where they either sipped their coffee or played at dominoes, then, as now, the staple resource of a French cafe.

The clock over the “comptoir” struck eight, and, at the same instant, a waiter made his appearance, carrying a small table, which he placed beside the fire, and, having trimmed a lamp, and placed a large fauteuil before it, was about to withdraw, when Trevanion, whose curiosity was roused by the singularity of these arrangements, determined upon asking for whose comfort they were intended.  The waiter stared for a moment at the question, with an air as if doubting the seriousness of him who put it, and at last replied—­“Pour Monsieur le Capitaine, je crois,” with a certain tone of significance upon the latter words.

“Le Capitaine! but what captain?” said he, carelessly; “for I am a captain, and that gentleman there—­and there, too, is another,” at the same instant throwing himself listlessly into the well-cushioned chair, and stretching out his legs at full length upon the hearth.

The look of horror which this quiet proceeding on his part, elicited from the poor waiter, so astonished him that he could not help saying—­“is there any thing the matter with you, my friend; are you ill?”

“No, monsieur, not ill; nothing the matter with me; but you, sir; oh, you, sir, pray come away.”

“Me,” said Trevanion; “me! why, my good man, I was never better in my life; so now just bring me my coffee and the Moniteur, if you have it; there, don’t stare that way, but do as I bid you.”