good! I was really beginning to get awfully anxious about him."

"And I had almost given him up for lost," said Jules, equally relieved.
"There he is, just outside the door. Ha, Henri! we began to think that
you would never return, and now----"

The two inmates of the room, peering through the dusk as the door
opened, saw an unfamiliar figure enter: a man dressed in baggy
clothing, a man whose eyes were encircled by the broad rims of heavy
glasses, and upon whose head sat an absurdly small Homberg hat. He was
a man getting on in years, one would have said--though the dusk made
the question uncertain--yet a man who stepped actively, whose breath
was not tried by the long ascent, and who knew his path well, and was
thoroughly acquainted with the door-way. Could it be Henri?--Henri in
disguise? A low chuckle escaped the man--a merry giggle--and then
Henri's well-known voice awoke the silence.

"I do wish that it were daylight," he told Stuart and Jules; "you'd
then see something that 'ud be good for sore eyes."

"Sore eyes--eh? It isn't so very dark here, and I can see enough to
startle me as it is," came the astonished rejoinder. "What on earth
have you been doing, Henri; and what's the meaning of this get-up? Of
course, it's a disguise; but, bless us! what a disguise!"

"Stop! How's this, then? I'll do the heavy German, and you can judge
the effect."

The gay, yet thoughtful, Henri closed the door of the room, and, with
what was left of the fast-receding daylight illuminating his person,
struck an attitude. Leaning on the stick with which he had provided
himself, he twirled the heavy moustaches--artificial affairs which he
had contrived to become possessed of--and glared at his comrades
through that pair of big-rimmed spectacles which so completely altered
his appearance. Then he talked to them--cross-questioned his friends
in the gruff, staccato accents one might have expected from such an
individual as he represented himself to be.

"German--the heavy German official--from the crown of that ridiculous
hat right down to your big flat feet," declared Stuart with gusto, when
the little performance was finished. "I'd never have thought it
possible, but that moustache has done wonders, and now that one really
gets a good glimpse of you, for it isn't so dark after all, I've no
hesitation in saying that I'd pass you in the street every day and fail
to spot you as Henri."

"As Henri, or even as a French