miled, and fixed her with his level glance.

"Indeed yes," he answered briskly. "It is a rudeness for which I can only
crave your pardon. Strange that I should have tasted your father's
hospitality so often and should still be a taciturn host."

Mademoiselle bit her lip.

"There is only one thing stranger," she said coldly.

"And that is--?" said my father, bending toward her attentively.

"That you should betray the last request of the man who once sheltered
you and trusted you, and showed you every kindness. Tell me, captain, is
it another display of artistic temperament, or simply a lack of
breeding?"

Her words seemed to fall lightly on my father. He took a pinch of snuff,
and waved his hand in an airy gesture of denial.

"Bah," he said. "If the Marquis were alive, he would understand. He was
always an opportunist, the Marquis. 'Drink your wine,' he would say,
'drink your wine and break your glass. We may not have heads to drink it
with tomorrow.' I am merely drinking the wine, Mademoiselle. He would
not blame me. Besides, the Marquis owes me nothing. If it were not for
me, your brother would be drinking his wine in paradise, instead of
cursing at the American climate. And you, Mademoiselle--would you have
preferred to remain with the police?"

He looked thoughtfully into his snuff box.

"Dead men press no bills--surely you recall the Marquis said that also.
No, Mademoiselle, we must be practical to live. The Marquis would
understand. The Marquis was always practical."

She caught her breath sharply, but my father seemed not to have perceived
the effect of his words.

"Ah," he said, "here is Brutus with the meal."

Brutus had carried in a small round table on which were arranged a loaf
of bread and some salt meat.

"Mademoiselle will join me?" asked my father, rubbing his hands. I do not
think he expected her reply any more than I did. Indeed, it seemed to
give him a momentary uneasiness.

"One must eat," said Mademoiselle. "We will eat, captain, and then we
will talk." I am sorry you have made it necessary, but of course you
have expected it."

"Mademoiselle has been unnaturally subdued," he replied. "It is pleasant
she is coming to herself again. And you, my son, you should be hungry."

"As Mademoiselle says, one must eat," I answered.

"Good," he said. "The food is poor, but you will find the wine
excellent," and he filled the glasses. It was a strange meal.

"Now we shall talk," said Mademo