several cups of coffee and liqueur glasses. Captain Granet leaned
forward in his place and stretched out his hand to serve his
companion. Before he could take the cup, however, the whole tray had
slipped from the waiter's fingers, caught the corner of the table,
and fallen with its contents on to the carpet. The waiter himself--a
small, undersized person with black, startled eyes set at that moment
in a fixed and unnatural stare--made one desperate effort to save
himself and then fell backwards. Every one turned around, attracted
by the noise of the falling cups and the sharp, half-stifled groan
which broke from the man's lips. Captain Granet sprang to his feet.

"Good heavens! The fellow's in a fit!" he exclaimed.

The maitre d'hotel and several waiters came hurrying up towards the
prostrate figure, by the side of which Major Thomson was already
kneeling. The manager, who appeared upon the scene as though by
magic, and upon whose face was an expression of horror that his
clients should have been so disturbed, quickly gave his orders. The
man was picked up and carried away. Major Thomson followed behind.
Two or three waiters in a few seconds succeeded in removing the
debris of the accident, the orchestra commenced a favourite waltz.
The maitre d'hotel apologised to the little groups of people for the
commotion--they were perhaps to blame for having employed a young man
so delicate--he was scarcely fit for service.

"He seemed to be a foreigner," Lady Anselman remarked, as the man
addressed his explanations to her.

"He was a Belgian, madam. He was seriously wounded at the
commencement of the war. We took him direct from the hospital."