"And you still feel so?" she asked him.

"Now more than ever," said my father. "I had almost hoped there would
be one sane man among the dozens outside, but they all have the brains
of school boys. No wonder the world moves so slowly, and great men seem
so great."

And he wound the handkerchief around his hand again.

"The captain has arranged to sell the paper?" asked Mademoiselle.

"Exactly," said my father. "The price has been fixed, and I shall deliver
it myself as soon as the day grows a little darker. I am sorry, almost.
It has not been uninteresting."

"No," said Mademoiselle, "it has not been uninteresting."

"You are pale, my son," said my father, turning to me. "I trust you are
not hurt?"

I shook my head.

"It is only your pride? You will be better soon. Come, we have always
been good losers. We have always known when the game was up. Let us see
if we cannot end it gracefully, as gentlemen should. You cannot get the
paper. Why not make the best of it? You have tried, and tried not
unskilfully, but you see now that the right man cannot always win--a
useful lesson, is it not? I do not ask you to like me for it. You have
seen enough of me, I hope, to hate me. And yet--let us be philosophical.