tion at least, and perhaps his life, was responsible. This
reflection kept me awkward and constrained, but luckily for me he took
no notice of my clumsiness, but rattled on as if he took an actual
delight in the sound of his own voice.

"Brunow," he declared, "is the most delightful man I have ever known.
The common complaint I hear against your delightful countrymen, Monsieur
Fiff, is that they are devoid of _esprit of verve_--that they are too
alive to their responsibilities, that they live in a cave of depression
of spirits. As I say, I have not known many; but I have not found them
so, and Brunow least of all. Brunow in his gayety, in his wit, is French
of the French. An astonishing man. Though, even here--in that infernal
fortress yonder where I suffer incredibly from _le spleen_--I laugh when
I am by myself, and when the face and voice of Brunow present themselves
to my memory. What conversation, eh? What inventions! What a noble
_farceur!_ Let us go and see him."

He set off at an impetuous pace, which he moderated almost immediately;
and gayly chattering all the way, led me--feeling like a villain at
every step, yet not in the least relaxing from my purpose--to the
hostel, where we found Brunow chaffing the landlady, who was already
busy in the preparation of our breakfast. The impetuous Lieutenant
Breschia fell upon his neck and kissed him on both cheeks, and Brunow
returned the salute with heartiness. I may as well let the fact out at
once and have the declaration over: I was beginning to have a serious
dislike for Brunow, though I strove to subdue it, trying to reflect
how much our rivalry, of which he knew nothing, might possibly warp my
judgment of him. At that minute I felt a downright twinge of hatred and
contempt for him; and his kisses made him seem like a sort of Judas in
my eyes. I did not pause to reflect that the kiss meant no more to him
than a shake of the hand means to a man who has been bred in England,
and it is a form of salute which--though I have been familiar with the
sight of it for years together--I cordially hate. Those beastly South
American Spaniards, among whom I fought, were always at it, with their
beards scented with garlic and tobacco! It was a form of salute I had
hard work to avoid at times; but I should always have been ready to
astonish the man who had succeeded in getting at me in that fashion. I
loathed Brunow for his acceptance and return of that caress; and yet the
man-wa