into his
trousers pockets, and regarded us sulkily.

"What are you going to do with this gentleman?" whispered Speed.

"Reason with him, first," I said; "a louis is worth a dozen
kicks."

The soldier left his post as we started toward him, and advanced,
blinking in the strong sunshine, meeting us half-way.

"Now, bourgeois," he said, shaking his unkempt head, "this won't do,
you know. Orders are to keep off. And," he added, in a bantering tone,
"I'm here to enforce them. Allons! En route, mes amis!"

"Are you the soldier Rolland?" I asked.

He admitted that he was with prompt profanity, adding that if we
didn't like his name we had only to tell him so and he would arrange
the matter.

I told him that we approved not only his name but his personal
appearance; indeed, so great was our admiration for him that we had
come clear across the Saint-Yssel moor expressly to pay our
compliments to him in the shape of a hundred-franc note. I drew it
from the soiled roll the Lizard had intrusted to me, and displayed it
for the sentinel's inspection.

"Is that for me?" he demanded, unconvinced, plainly suspicious of
being ridiculed.

"Under certain conditions," I said, "these five louis are for you."

The soldier winked. "I know what you want; you want to go in yonder
and use the telegraph. What the devil," he burst out, "do all you
bourgeois want with that telegraph in there?"

"Has anybody else asked to use it?" I inquired, disturbed.

"Anybody else?" he mimicked. "Well, I think so; there's somebody in
there now--here, give your hundred francs or I tell you nothing, you
understand!"

I handed him the soiled note. He scanned it with the inborn distrust
of the true malefactor, turned it over and over, and finally,
pronouncing it "en regle," shoved it cheerfully into the lining of
his red forage cap.

"A hundred more if you answer my questions truthfully," I said,
amiably.

"'Cre cochon!" he blurted out; "fire at will, comrade! I'll sell you
the whole cursed semaphore for a hundred more! What can I do for you,
captain?"

"Who is in that hut?"

"A lady--she comes often--she gives ten francs each time. Zut!--what
is ten francs when a gentleman gives a hundred! She pays me for my
complaisance--bon! Place aux dames! You pay me better--bon! I'm yours,
gentlemen. War is war, but money pulls the trigger!"

The miserable creature cocked his forage-cap with a toothless smirk
and twisted his scant mustache.

"Who is