of a French invasion, and a sense of what Boyne
was trying to do, steadied his shaken emotions; held him firmly in the
grip of practical common sense. He laughed, hiccuped a little, as though
he was very drunk, and said:

"Of course the French would like to come to Ireland; they'd like to
seize it and hold it. Why, of course they would! Don't we know all
that's been and gone? Aren't Irishmen in France grown rich in industry
there after having lost every penny of their property here? Aren't there
Irishmen there, always conniving to put England at defiance here by
breaking her laws, cheating her officers, seducing her patriots? Of
course; but what astounds me is that a man of your standing should
believe the French are coming here now to Ireland. No, no, Boyne; I'm
not taking your word for any of these things. You're a gossip; you're a
damned, pertinacious, preposterous gossip, and I'll say it as often as
you like."

"So it's proof you want, is it? Well, then, here it is."

Boyne drew from his pocket a small leather-bound case and took from it a
letter, which he laid on the table in front of Dyck.

Dyck looked at the document, then said:

"Ah, that's what you are, eh?--a captain in the French artillery! Well,
that'd be a surprise in Ireland if it were told."

"It isn't going to be told unless you tell it, Calhoun, and you're too
much of a sportsman for that. Besides:

"Why shouldn't you have one of these if you want it--if you want it!"

"What'd be the good of my wanting it? I could get a commission here in
the army of George III, if I wanted it, but I don't want it; and any
man that offers it to me, I'll hand it back with thanks and be damned to
you!"

"Listen to me, then, Calhoun," remarked Boyne, reaching out a hand to
lay it on Dyck's arm.

Dyck saw the motion, however, and carefully drew back in his chair. "I'm
not an adventurer," he said; "but if I were, what would there be in it
for me?"

Boyne misunderstood the look on Dyck's face. He did not grasp the
meaning behind the words, and he said to him:

"Oh, a good salary--as good as that of a general, with a commission and
the spoils of war! That's the thing in the French army that counts for
so much--spoils of war. When they're out on a country like this, they
let their officers loose--their officers and men. Did you ever hear tell
of a French army being pinched for fodder, or going thirsty for drink,
or losing its head for poverty or indigence?"

"N