who had so far forgotten himself as to address two gentlemen
without permission, and Calvert, turning to the man and studying his
face for an instant, suddenly seized him by the hand cordially, and
exclaimed, "My good Bertrand, is it indeed you?"

"Ah! Monsieur--what happiness! I had never thought to see Monsieur
again!"

"Then you were destined to be greatly mistaken, Bertrand," returned
Calvert, laughing, "for you are likely to see me often. I am to be here
in Paris for an indefinite length of time, and as Monsieur de Beaufort
tells me that the Cafe de l'Ecole surpasses all others, I shall be here
very frequently."

"And now," broke in Beaufort, addressing the man, who still stood
beaming with delight and surprise upon Calvert, "go and get us our
coffee and cognac." The man departed hastily and Beaufort turned to
Calvert.

"Allow me to congratulate you upon finding an acquaintance in Paris so
soon! May I ask who the gentleman is?"

"The gentleman was once a private in a company under Monsieur de
Lafayette's orders before Yorktown, and is my very good friend," says
Calvert, quietly, ignoring Beaufort's somewhat disdainful raillery. What
he did not tell Beaufort was that Private Bertrand owed his life and
much material aid to himself, and that the man was profoundly devoted
and grateful. In Calvert's estimation it was but a simple service he had
rendered the poor soldier--rescuing him from many dying and wounded
comrades who had fallen in that first fierce onslaught upon the Yorktown
redoubt. He had directed the surgeon to dress the man's wounds--he had
been knocked on the head with a musket--and had eased the poor wretch's
mind greatly by speaking to him in his own tongue, for most of the
French soldiery under Rochambeau and Lafayette knew not a word of
English. When Bertrand recovered, Calvert had sent him a small sum of
money and a kind message, neither of which was the man likely to forget.
Never, in the whole course of his pinched, oppressed young life in
France, had kindness and consideration been shown him from those above
him. Tyranny and abuse had been his lot and the lot of those all about
him, and such a passionate devotion for the young American officer was
kindled in his breast as would have greatly astonished its object had he
known it. It was with an almost ludicrous air of solicitude that
Bertrand placed the coffee before Calvert and poured out his cognac and
then hung about, waiting anxiously for