lities, and there is great advantage to one among our people who
both speaks the language, say, of England, and, better even than that,
understands her people and has inside knowledge of them. So you will
go to an English university once you have left your school in Paris."

As a matter of strict fact, Henri had left his school in Paris when
only fifteen years of age, and had crossed the Channel to become one of
the inmates of a public school famous throughout Great Britain. It was
there that he had learned to speak like a native, and, better still, it
was there that he had learned, unconsciously, quite easily in fact, to
behave just as did his fellows, to speak as they did, quietly, without
undue or exaggerated action, to play their games, to understand and
practise their codes of honour; and so faithful and diligent a student
was he, so heartily did he enter into the work and games of that public
school, that, when in due course he went to a university, he was
mistaken, just as he had been at the moment of the opening of this
story, for a British subject, an essentially insular individual.

As for Jules, when one has described the appearance and the
life-history, though only a short one so far, of the energetic Henri,
one has practically described that of his companion. For Jules and
Henri were born next-door to one another, were chums from their
earliest boyhood, and, thanks to the intimate friendship of their
parents, had the same course marked out for them. Jules, then,
followed Henri to that public school in England, followed him to the
university, was like him in his fancy for British ways and British
customs, and followed him yet again, indeed went in his company, on
that journey to Berlin which immersed them in this misfortune.

And there they were, interned in Ruhleben, impounded, corralled if you
like, separated from their countrymen by ghastly fences of barbed wire,
and by a nation composed of men and women who, almost without
exception, would, if they were to discover them outside their prison,
most eagerly tear them to pieces.

"But it's got to be done!" Jules said, as he and Henri sat outside the
stable, the wooden hovel, indeed, in which they lived, in which they
bedded down at night in stalls once occupied by horses, and now merely
strewed with straw, cruelly cold and unfit for human habitation.

"And the sooner we set about it the better. We'll have to harden our
hearts," said Henri, looking v