another sunset. For, while the world would look upon this encounter as
one looks upon a comedy, for some it would serve as tragedy. Often he
lent his ear to the gay banter of the young American, and watched the
careless smile on his face. What was he doing here? Why was he risking
his life for no cause whatever, an alien, in natural sympathy neither
with the kingdom nor with the duchy? A sad, grim smile parted his lips.

"O, the urbanity of the young and the brave!" he murmured.

Maurice felt the old familiar exhilaration--the soldier's
exhilaration--quicken the beat of his pulse. He did not ask himself
why he was here; he knew why. A delightful flower had sprung up in his
heart, and fate had nipped it. Whither this new adventure would lead
him he cared not. From now on life for him must be renewed by continual
change and excitement. Since no one depended on him, his life was his
to dispose of as he willed. Friends? He laughed. He knew the world too
well. He himself was his best friend, for he had always been true to
himself.

He might be shot, but he had faced that possibility before. Besides,
to-day's experience would be new to him. He had never witnessed a battle
in the open, man to man, in bright, resplendent uniforms. A ragged,
dusty troop of brown-skinned men in faded blue, with free and easy
hats, irregular of formation, no glory, no brilliancy, skirmishing
with outlawed white men and cunning Indians, that was the extent of his
knowledge by experience. True, these self-same men in dingy blue fought
with a daring such as few soldiers living possessed; but they lacked the
ideal picturesqueness which made this army so attractive.

The sharp edges of his recent fatigue were not yet dulled, but his
cuirass sat lightly upon him, the sound of the dangling saber at his
side smote pleasantly his ear, and the black Mecklenberg under him
was strong and active. To return to Madame's chateau in the guise of a
conqueror was a most engaging thought. She had humbled his self-love,
now to humble hers! He no longer bothered himself about Beauvais, whose
case he had placed in the hands of the Austrian ambassador.

Gay and debonair he rode that late September afternoon. No man around
him had so clear an eye nor so constant a vivacity. Since he had nothing
but his life to lose, he had no fear. Let the theater be full of light
while the play lasted, and let the curtain fall to a round of huzzas!
For a few short hours ago he had k