oussillon's sword, and he now wears the beautiful weapon as if he had
come by it honestly. Damn him!"

"My dear, dear son, you must not soil your lips with such language!"
Father Beret let fall the half of a well bitten cake and held up both
hands.

"I beg your pardon, Father; I know I ought to be more careful in your
presence; but--but--the beastly, hellish scoundrel--"

"Bah! doucement, mon fils, doucement." The old man shook his head and
his finger while speaking. "Easy, my son, easy. You would be a fine
target for bullets were your words to reach Hamilton's ears. You are
not permitted to revile your commander."

"Yes, I know; but how can a man restrain himself under such abominable
conditions?"

Father Beret shrewdly guessed that Hamilton had been giving the Captain
fresh reason for bitter resentment. Moreover, he was sure that the
moving cause had been Alice. So, in order to draw out what he wished to
hear, he said very gently:

"How is the little prisoner getting along?"

Farnsworth ground his teeth and swore; but Father Beret appeared not to
hear; he bit deep into a scone, took a liberal sip of the muddy red
wine and added:

"Has she a comfortable place? Do you think Governor Hamilton would let
me visit her?"

"It is horrible!" Farnsworth blurted. "She's penned up as if she were a
dangerous beast, the poor girl. And that damned scoundrel--"

"Son, son!"

"Oh, it's no use to try, I can't help it, Father. The whelp--"

"We can converse more safely and intelligently if we avoid profanity,
and undue emotion, my son. Now, if you will quit swearing, I will, and
if you will be calm, so will I."

Farnsworth felt the sly irony of this absurdly vicarious proposition.
Father Beret smiled with a kindly twinkle in his deep-set eyes.

"Well, if you don't use profane language, Father, there's no telling
how much you think in expletives. What is your opinion of a man who
tumbles a poor, defenseless girl into prison and then refuses to let
her be decently cared for? How do you express yourself about him?"

"My son, men often do things of which they ought to be ashamed. I heard
of a young officer once who maltreated a little girl that he met at
night in the street. What evil he would have done, had not a passing
kind-hearted man reminded him of his honor by a friendly punch in the
ribs, I dare not surmise."

"True, and your sarcasm goes home as hard as your fist did, Father. I
know that I've been a sad dog all