talian excellently."

"Ah, that accent of mine! No, not of the French service--in fact, not
of any service. I have been in many services, but I can show you no
commission as captain."

For the first time the Count smiled.

"It is, perhaps, a sobriquet?" he asked, but with no offensive air or
insinuation.

"The spontaneous tribute of my comrades all over the world," answered
Dieppe, proudly--"is it for me to refuse it?"

"By no means," agreed his host, smiling still; "I don't doubt that you
have amply earned it."

Dieppe's bow confirmed the supposition while it acknowledged the
compliment.

Civilities such as these, when aided by dinner and a few glasses of red
wine, soon passed into confidences--on the Captain's side at least.
Accustomed to keep other people's secrets, he burdened himself with few
of his own.

"I have always had something of a passion for politics," he confessed,
after giving his host an account of some stirring events in South
America in which he had borne a part.

"You surprise me," was the Count's comment.

"Perhaps I should say," Dieppe explained, "for handling those forces
which lie behind politics. That has been my profession." The Count
looked up.

"Oh, I 'm no sentimentalist," Dieppe went on. "I ask for my pay--I
receive it--and sometimes I contrive to keep it."

"You interest me," said his host, in whose manner Dieppe recognised an
attractive simplicity.

"But in my last enterprise--well, there are accidents in every trade."
His shrug was very good-natured.

"The enterprise failed?" asked the Count, sympathetically.

"Certainly, or I should not be enjoying your hospitality. Moreover I
failed too, for I had to skip out of the country in such haste that I
left behind me fifty thousand francs, and the police have laid hands on
it. It was my--what shall I call it? My little _pourboire_." He
sighed lightly, and then smiled again. "So I am a homeless wanderer,
content if I can escape the traps of police agents."

"You anticipate being annoyed in that way?"

"They are on my track, depend upon it." He touched the outside of his
breast pocket. "I carry--but no matter. The pursuit only adds a spice
to my walks, and so long as I don't need to sell my revolver for
bread--." He checked himself abruptly, a frown of shame or vexation on
his face. "I beg your pardon," he went on, "I beg your pardon. But
you won't take me for a beggar?"

"I regret what you have said only