ndering, Professor," remarked he, as he resumed his seat without
explanation, "from what college--you call it?--you come?"

"Harvard," said Birnier, rather amused and noticing that as a true
connoisseur, zu Pfeiffer refrained from smoking while drinking his port.

"I have met many of the Harvard men--at Washington."

"Ah, you know Washington?"

"Yes, I was there nearly two years."

Zu Pfeiffer drained his port, selected a cigar, lighted it and gazed
abstractedly towards the ivory frame. The lips softened and he smiled
gently.

"Do you know many people there?"

"Oh, a few."

"Ach {~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} I wonder.{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} You must know that I met her there, my divine Lucille!"

"Lucille! How strange! That is my wife's name too."

"Really?" Zu Pfeiffer still peered dreamily at the corner. He gathered up
his legs and rose like an eager boy. "Permit me, Herr Professor, she is
so--so----" He bent over the portrait and struck a match. Politely Birnier
stooped to look. He saw a portrait of a French woman in an evening gown, a
woman of charm with the vivacious eyes and tempting mouth of the coquette.

"My God!"

Birnier bent closer and stared intently. Across the corner of the
photograph were written in ink in familiar characters the words: 'a toi,
Lucille.'

"Lucille!" he gasped. "Lu--Good God!" He stood up abruptly. "I--What in
God's name--who is this woman?"

The match fell to the floor. He was vaguely conscious of the tall white
figure stiffening as a dog does.

"That lady is my fiancee."

"Fiancee! She--Good God, you're mad! She is my wife!"

"Wife!{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} Gott verdampf, der Teufel solls holen! Das ist der Schweinhuend!"

The gutturals exploded from zu Pfeiffer. The sleeve of his white jacket
quivered, the arm came up to the gold braided chest and jerked out a
silver whistle. He hesitated, glaring at the astonished figure of Birnier.
Suddenly zu Pfeiffer sat down by the table. His blue eyes were as hard as
malachite.

"Sit down!" he commanded harshly.

Birnier did not appear to notice him. He struck a match and bent over the
photograph again.

"Good God!" he muttered. "I--I--don't understand--O God!"

"Sit down!" shouted zu Pfeiffer. Birnier merely blinked at him.

"Would you mind explaining?" demanded Birnier.

"Explain!{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} Is your wife Mademoiselle Lucille Charltrain?"

"Why, of course. That is her professional name. But how on earth has this