et of my heart that I offer you my
apologies. True, I might have done better, but I did my best in my
inexperience. We have the contraband--at least that is something, eh?"

He grew calmer as the thought struck him.

"Yes," he grumbled, "there are in that bundle at least ten thousand
cigars. It is, after all, not so bad."

"Might I ask," I returned, "when your excellency intends to honour me
with my liberty?"

He stopped, and to my delight held out his hand to me.

"You are free, monsieur," he said roughly, with a touch of his good
nature. "The affair is over--but not a word of the manoeuvre you have
witnessed in the village. Our work here is for the ears of the
Government alone."

As we reached the gate of the fort I saluted him, handed my carbine to
Pierre in exchange for my shotgun, and struck home in the mist of early
dawn.

* * * * *

The morning after, I was leaning over the lichen-stained wall of my
garden caressing the white throat of the Essence of Selfishness, the
events of my night of service still in my mind, when I saw the coast
patrol coming across the marsh in double file. As they drew nearer I
recognized Pierre and his companion, who had shouldered the contraband.
The roped bundle was swung on a stout pole between them.

Presently they left the marsh and gained the road. As the double file of
uniformed men came past my wall they returned my salute. Pierre shifted
his end of the pole to the man behind him and stood at attention until
the rest had passed. Then the procession went on to inform Monsieur the
Mayor, who lived near the little square where nothing ever happened.

Pierre turned when they had left and entered my garden. What was he
going to tell me now? I wondered, with sudden apprehension. Was I to
serve another night?

"I'll be hanged if I will," I muttered.

He approached solemnly and slowly, his bayonet gleaming at his side, the
warm sunlight glinting on the buttons of his uniform. When he got near
enough for me to look into his eyes he stopped, raised his hand to his
cap in salute, and said with a smile:

"Now, monsieur, the artichokes."

[Illustration: bundle of contraband]

* * * * *

[Illustration: Marianne]

CHAPTER FIVE

MARIANNE

Monsieur le Cure slid the long chair up to my fire, bent his straight,
black body forward, and rubbing his chilled hands briskly before the
blazing l