t of Moselle," I ordered. "I dare not order whiskey and soda
before you, Louis."

He made a little grimace.

"It is as monsieur wishes," he declared, "but it is a drink without
_finesse,_--a crude drink for a man of monsieur's tastes. It
shall be the Moselle No. 197," he added, turning to the waiter. "Do
not forget the number. 197," he added, turning to me, "is an
absolutely light wine,--for luncheon, delicious!"

We were alone once more. Louis bent, smiling, over my table.

"Monsieur is much interested," he said, "in the disappearance of an
acquaintance, a passing travelling companion, but he does not ask of
affairs which concern him more gravely."

"Of Tapilow!" I exclaimed quickly.

Louis nodded.

"Tapilow is in an hospital and he will live," Louis declared slowly,
"but all his life he will limp, and all his life he will carry a scar
from his forehead to his mouth."

I nodded meditatively.

"It is, perhaps," I answered, "a more complete punishment."

I fancied that in Louis' green eyes there shot for a moment a gleam of
something like admiration.

"Monsieur has courage," he murmured.

"Why not?" I answered. "We all of us have a certain amount of
philosophy, you know, Louis. It was inevitable that when that man and
I met, I should try to kill him. I had no weapon that night. I simply
took him into my hands. But there, you know the rest. If he had died,
I might have had to pay the penalty. It was a risk, but you see I had
to take it. The thing was inevitable. The wrong that he had done some
one who is very dear to me was too terrible, too hideous, for him to
be allowed to go unpunished."

"When he recovers," Louis remarked thoughtfully, "monsieur will have
an enemy."

"A great man, Louis, once declared," I reminded him, "that one's
enemies were the salt of one's life. One's friends sometimes
weary. One's enemies give always a zest to existence."

Again Louis was summoned away. I ate my lunch and sipped my wine.
Louis was right. It was excellent, yet likely enough to be overlooked
by the casual visitor, for it was of exceedingly moderate price.

So Tapilow was not likely to die! So much the better, perhaps! The
time might have come in my life when the whole of that tragedy lay
further back in the shadows, and when the thought that I had killed a
man, however much he had deserved it, might chill me. I understood
from Louis' very reticence that I had nothing now to fear from the
law. So far as regard