. Dupin eyed his host with interest. "A counter-stroke
to the First Consul--is that so?"

"Well, not exactly a downright counter-stroke; although, if I had my
way . . . but in fact (and I mention it in confidence, of course) our
Artillery here is planning a surprise upon our neighbours of Looe,
the descent to be made upon Talland Cove."

M. Dupin set down his glass. "But I am in luck to-night!" said he.
"You--I--we are all in luck!"

"Forgive me, I do not see--"

"Oh, decidedly, I am in very great luck! If only your neighbours of
Looe--they, too, have a corps of Artillery, I suppose?" M. Dupin
felt in his breast pocket and drew out a paper. "Quick! their
officer's name?"

"A Captain Pond commands them: Captain Aeneas Pond."

"Pond? Pond? See now, and I have an introduction to him! And you
have arranged to surprise him on the night of April 30th--and at
Talland Cove--when there will be no moon! Oh, damgood!"

"But even yet I do not see," the Major protested.

"Not quite. For the moment you do not see, quite; but in a little
while." M. Dupin leaned forward and tapped the Major's knee.
"Your Artillery? You can count on them?"

"To the death."

"How many?"

"Nine score, without reckoning uniforms or stretcher-bearers."

"Stretcher-bearers?"

"For the wounded. And, of course--during the operation you propose--
we expect our corps to be depleted."

"By the crews? But they will be _there_! It is of the essence of
your surprise that they, too, will return from Guernsey and join you
in time. Next, of the Looe Artillery, how many?"

"You may put them down at seventy, all told."

"One hundred and eighty, and seventy--that makes two hundred and
fifty; and the cognac at six francs a gallon; and this Captain Pond
commended to me for the deepest man in Looe! It is you--it is he--it
is I--it is all of us together that are in luck's way!" M. Dupin
leapt up, snapped his bony fingers triumphantly; then, thrusting his
hands beneath his coat-tails and clasping them, strode to and fro in
front of the Major, for all the world like a long-legged chanticleer.

Ah, but wait a moment! Vainglorious bird of Gaul, or of the island
contiguous, wait a moment ere you crow before the Mayor of Troy!

For a moment the Major lay back in his chair, to all appearance
stupefied, confounded. Then he too rose, his lips working, his hand
shaking for one instant only as with his pipe-stem he traced a
magnificent curve