room and indeed he made no attempt to give to it any appearance of
sincerity. It was a deliberate excuse and not his reason.

"Because you are the Prussian officer in command and the Prussian
troops march into St. Denis to-morrow. Suppose that I kill you, what
sort of penalty should I suffer at their hands?"

"None," exclaimed Faversham. "We can draw up an account of the
quarrel, here now. Look here is paper and ink and as luck will have it
a pen that will write. I will write an account with my own hand, and
the four of us can sign it. Besides if you kill me, you can escape
into Paris."

"I will not fight you to-night," said Captain Plessy and he set down
the candle upon the table. Then with an elaborate correctness he drew
his sword from its scabbard and offered the handle of it to Faversham.

"Lieutenant, you are in command of St. Denis. I am your prisoner of
war."

Faversham stood for a moment or two with his hands clenched. The light
had gone out of his face.

"I have no authority to make prisoners," he said. He took up one of
the candles, gazed at his guest in perplexity.

"You have not given me your real reason, Captain Plessy," he said.
Captain Plessy did not answer a word.

"Good-night, gentlemen," said Faversham and Captain Plessy bowed
deeply as Faversham left the room.

A silence of some duration followed upon the closing of the door. The
two subalterns were as perplexed as Faversham to account for their
hero's conduct. They sat dumb and displeased. Plessy stood for a
moment thoughtfully, then he made a gesture with his hands as though
to brush the whole incident from his mind and taking a cigarette from
his case proceeded to light it at the candle. As he stooped to the
flame he noticed the glum countenances of his brother-officers, and
laughed carelessly.

"You are not pleased with me, my friends," said he as he threw himself
on to a couch which stood against the wall opposite to his companions.
"You think I did not speak the truth when I gave the reason of my
refusal? Well you are right. I will give you the real reason why I
would not fight. It is very simple. I do not wish to be killed. I know
these white-faced, trembling men--there are no men more terrible. They
may run away but if they do not, if they string themselves to
the point of action--take the word of a soldier older than
yourselves--then is the time to climb trees. To-morrow I would very
likely kill our young friend, he would have