ax!" exclaimed several voices.

The manner in which the youthful and the mature fair clustered around
this Captain, aged forty (and not handsome) was really extraordinary, to
the males of the Hotel Beau-Site. Even the little Russian Countess
attached herself to him at once. And by reason of her title, her social
energy, and her personal distinction, she took natural precedence of the
others.

"Recognise him?" Denry whispered to his wife.

Nellie nodded. "He seems rather nice," she said diffidently.

"Nice!" Denry repeated the adjective. "The man's an ass!"

And the majority of the Beau-Site party agreed with Denry's verdict
either by word or gesture.

Captain Deverax stared fixedly at Denry; then smiled vaguely and
drawled, "Hullo! How d' do?"

And they shook hands.

"So you know him?" some one murmured to Denry.

"Know him?... Since infancy."

The inquirer scented facetiousness, but he was somehow impressed. The
remarkable thing was that though he regarded Captain Deverax as a
popinjay, he could not help feeling a certain slight satisfaction in the
fact that they were in some sort acquaintances.... Mystery of the human
heart!... He wished sincerely that he had not, in his conversation with
the Captain in the train, talked about previous visits to Switzerland.
It was dangerous.

The dance achieved that brightness and joviality which entitle a dance
to call itself a success. The cotillon reached brilliance, owing to the
captaincy of Captain Deverax. Several score opprobrious epithets were
applied to the Captain in the course of the night, but it was agreed
_nemine contradicente_ that, whatever he would have done in front
of a Light Brigade at Balaclava, as a leader of cotillons he was
terrific. Many men, however, seemed to argue that if a man who
_was_ a man led a cotillon, he ought not to lead it too well, on
pain of being considered a cox-comb.

At the close, during the hot soup, the worst happened. Denry had known
that it would.

Captain Deverax was talking to Nellie, who was respectfully listening,
about the scenery, when the Countess came up, plate in hand.

"No, no," the Countess protested. "As for me, I hate your mountains. I
was born in the steppe where it is all level--level! Your mountains
close me in. I am only here by order of my doctor. Your mountains get on
my nerves." She shrugged her shoulders.

Captain Deverax smiled.

"It is the same with you, isn't it?" he said turning to Nellie.