ness in that
direction. Like many travellers, the Frenchman loved the open air.
Like all Frenchmen, he loved the streets. He was idling in Pall Mall,
avoiding a man here and there. For we all have friends whom we are
content to see pass by on the other side. Deulin's duty was, moreover,
such that it got strangely mixed up with his pleasure, and it often
happens that discretion must needs overcome a natural sociability.

Cartoner saw his friend approaching; for Deulin had the good fortune,
or the misfortune, to be a distinguished-looking man, with a tall,
spare form, a trim white mustache and imperial, and that air of calm
possession of his environment which gives to some paupers the manner of
a great land-owner. He shook hands in silence, then turned and walked
with Cartoner.

"I permit myself a question," he said. "When did you return from Cuba?"

"I landed at Liverpool last night."

Cartoner turned in his abrupt way and looked his companion up and down.
Perhaps he was wondering for the hundredth time what might be buried
behind those smiling eyes.

"I am in London, as you see," said Deulin, as if he had been asked a
question. "I am awaiting orders. Something is brewing somewhere, one may
suppose. Your return to London seems to confirm such a suspicion. Let us
hope we may have another little . . . errand together--eh?"

As he spoke, Deulin bowed in his rather grand way to an old gentleman
who walked briskly past in the military fashion, and who turned to look
curiously at the two men.

"You are dressed in your best clothes," said Deulin, after a pause; "you
are going to pay calls."

"I am going to call on one of my old chiefs."

"Then I will ask your permission to accompany you. I, too, have put on a
new hat. I am idle. I want something to do. Mon Dieu, I want to talk to
a clean and wholesome Englishwoman, just for a change. I know all your
old chiefs, my friend. I know where you have been every moment since you
made your mark at this business. One watches the quiet men--eh?"

"She will be glad to see you," said Cartoner, with his slow smile.

"Ah! She is always kind, that lady; for I guess where we are going. She
might have been a great woman . . . if she had not been a happy one."

"I always go to see them when I am in town," said Cartoner, who usually
confined his conversation to the necessaries of daily intercourse.

"And he--how is he?"

"He is as well as can be expected. He has worked so hard and