t'
and a 'peignoir,' and shoes for the beach! I know where to get these
things much cheaper than at the seaside. Oh! la mer, la mer! Enfin
je vais piquer ma tete [take my header] la dedans--_et pas plus tard
qu'apres-demain soir_.... A demain, tres-cher camarade--six
heures--chez Babet!"

And, delirious with joyful anticipations, the good Bonzig ran
away--all but "piquant sa tete" down the narrow staircase, and
whistling "Mon Aldegonde" at the very top of his whistle; and even
outside he shouted:

"Ouile--me--sekile ro,
sekile ro,
sekile ro ...
Ouile--me--sekile ro
Tat brinn my ladde ome!"

He had to be silenced by a sergent de ville.

And next day they dined at Babet's, and Bonzig was so happy he had
to beg pardon for his want of feeling at seeming so exuberant "un
jour de separation! mais venez aussi, Josselin--nous piquerons nos
tetes ensemble, et nagerons de conserve...."

But Barty could not afford this little outing, and he was very
sad--with a sadness that not all the Pauillac and St.-Estephe in M.
Babet's cellars could have dispelled.

He made his friend a present of a beautiful pair of razors--English
razors, which he no longer needed, since he no longer meant to
shave--"en signe de mon deuil!" as he said. They had been the gift
of Lord Archibald in happier days. Alas! he had forgotten to give
his uncle Archie the traditional halfpenny, but he took good care to
extract a sou from le Grand Bonzig!

So ended this little episode in Barty's life. He never saw Bonzig
again, nor heard from him, and _of_ him only once more. That sou was
wasted.

It was at Blankenberghe, on the coast of Belgium, that he at last
had news of him--a year later--at the cafe on the plage, and in such
an odd and unexpected manner that I can't help telling how it
happened.

One afternoon a corner of the big coffee-room was being arranged for
private theatricals, in which Barty was to perform the part of a
waiter. He had just borrowed the real waiter's jacket and apron, and
was dusting the little tables for the amusement of Mlle. Solange, the
dame de comptoir, and of the waiter, Prosper, who had on Barty's own
shooting-jacket.

Suddenly an old gentleman came in and beckoned to Barty and ordered a
demi-tasse and petit-verre. There were no other customers at that
hour.

[Illustration: "'DEMI-TASSE--VOILA, M'SIEUR'"]

Mlle. Solange was horrified; but Barty insisted on waiting on the
Old ge