"Bah," he said. "If the Marquis were alive, he would understand. He was
always an opportunist, the Marquis. 'Drink your wine,' he would say,
'drink your wine and break your glass. We may not have heads to drink it
with tomorrow.' I am merely drinking the wine, Mademoiselle. He would
not blame me. Besides, the Marquis owes me nothing. If it were not for
me, your brother would be drinking his wine in paradise, instead of
cursing at the American climate. And you, Mademoiselle--would you have
preferred to remain with the police?"

He looked thoughtfully into his snuff box.

"Dead men press no bills--surely you recall the Marquis said that also.
No, Mademoiselle, we must be practical to live. The Marquis would
understand. The Marquis was always practical."

She caught her breath sharply, but my father seemed not to have perceived
the effect of his words.

"Ah," he said, "here is Brutus with the meal."

Brutus had carried in a small round table on which were arranged a loaf
of bread and some salt meat.

"Mademoiselle will join me?" asked my father, rubbing his hands. I do not
think he expected her reply any more than I did. Indeed, it seemed to
give him a momentary uneasiness.

"One must eat," said Mademoiselle. "We will eat, captain, and then we
will talk." I am sorry you have made it necessary, but of course you