ery one else," I said. "Perhaps you, too, are
observed."

"Possibly. Monsieur may perceive that it is better I continue in the
pay of the police. It is hardly more than a _pourboire_, but it is
desirable. I have an old mother at Neuilly."

I had my doubts in regard to the existence of the mother--but it was
true, as I learned later.

"It seems to me," I said, "that you will have to report your
observations."

"Yes; I cannot avoid that. Monsieur may feel assured that I shall
communicate very important information to my lesser master,"--he
grinned,--"in fact, whatever monsieur pleases. If I follow and report
at times to the police where monsieur visits, I may be trusted to be
at need entirely untrustworthy and prudent. I do not smoke. Monsieur's
cigars are safe. If monsieur has absinthe about, I might--monsieur
permits me to be suggestive."

The man's gaiety, his intelligence, and his audacious frankness took
my fancy. I said: "There is nothing in my life, my man, which is not
free for all to know. I shall soon learn whether or not I may trust
you. If you are faithful you shall be rewarded. That is all." As I
spoke his pleasant face became grave.

"Monsieur shall not be disappointed." Nor was he. Alphonse proved to
be a devoted servant, a man with those respectful familiarities which
are rare except in French and Italian domestics. When once I asked him
how far his superiors had profited by his account of me, he put on a
queer, wry face and said circumstances had obliged him to become
inventive. He had been highly commended. It seemed as well to inquire
no further.

II

On the 6th of October I found on my table a letter of introduction and
the card of Captain Arthur Merton, U.S.A. (2d Infantry), 12 Rue du Roi
de Rome.

The note was simple but positive. My uncle, Harry Wellwood, a cynical,
pessimistic old bachelor and a rank Copperhead, wrote me to make the
captain welcome, which meant much to those who knew my uncle. On that
day the evening mail was large. Alphonse laid the letters on my table,
and as he lingered I said, "Well, what is it?"

"Monsieur may not observe that three letters from America have been
opened in the post-office."

I said, "Yes." In fact, it was common and of course annoying. One of
these letters was from my uncle. He wrote:

I gave Arthur Merton an open letter to you, but I add this
to state that he is one of the few decent gentlemen in the
army of the North.