“I have the honour to address the Prussian officer in command of St. Denis.”

The Frenchman got no reply whatever to his words but he seemed to hear some one sharply draw in a breath.  He spoke again into the darkness; for it was now impossible for any one of the five men in the cellar to see a hand’s breadth beyond his face.

“I am the Captain Plessy of Mon Vandon’s Division.  I have the honour to address the Prussian officer.”

This time he received an answer, quietly spoken yet with an inexplicable note of resignation.

“I am Lieutenant Faversham in command of St. Denis.”

Captain Plessy stepped immediately forward, and bowed.  Now as he dipped his shoulders in the bow a gleam of light struck over his head into the cellar, and—­he could not be sure—­but it seemed to him that he saw a man suddenly raise his arm as if to ward off a blow.  Captain Plessy continued.

“I ask Lieutenant Faversham for permission for myself and my two officers to sleep to-night at this hotel;” and now he very distinctly heard a long, irrepressible sigh of relief.  Lieutenant Faversham gave him the permission he desired in a cordial, polite way.  Moreover he added an invitation.  “Your name, Captain Plessy, is well known to me as to all on both sides who have served in this campaign and to many more who have not.  I beg that you and your officers will favour me with your company at dinner.”

Captain Plessy accepted the invitation and was pleased to deprecate the Lieutenant’s high opinion of his merits.  But his achievement none the less had been of a redoubtable character.  He had broken through the lines about Metz and had ridden across France into Paris without a single companion.  In the sorties from that beleaguered town he had successively distinguished himself by his fearless audacity.  His name and reputation had travelled far as Lieutenant Faversham was that evening to learn.  But Captain Plessy, for the moment, was all for making little of his renown.

“Such small exploits should be expected from a soldier.  One brave man may say that to another,—­is it not so?—­and still not be thought to be angling for praise,” and Captain Plessy went up the steps, wondering who it was that had drawn the long sharp breath of suspense, and uttered the long sigh of immense relief.  The landlord or Lieutenant Faversham?  Captain Plessy had not been in the cellar at the time when the landlord had seemed to hear the chatter of a man’s teeth.

The dinner was not a pronounced success, in spite of Faversham’s avoidance of any awkward topic.  They sat at the long table in the big, desolate and shabby room, lighted only by a couple of tallow candles set up in their candlesticks upon the cloth.  And the two junior officers maintained an air of chilly reserve and seldom spoke except when politeness compelled them.  Faversham himself was absorbed, the burden of entertainment fell upon Captain Plessy.  He