"Zo-o!" said the general slowly, in his deepest voice. But the German
exclamation has a variety of significance, according to the inflection,
and Adlerkreutz's ejaculation seemed to contain them all.

*****

It was in Paris, where the consul had lingered on his way to his new
post. He was sitting in a well-known cafe, among whose habitues were
several military officers of high rank. A group of them were gathered
round a table near him. He was idly watching them with an odd
recollection of Schlachtstadt in his mind, and as idly glancing from
them to the more attractive Boulevard without. The consul was getting a
little tired of soldiers.

Suddenly there was a slight stir in the gesticulating group and a cry of
greeting. The consul looked up mechanically, and then his eyes remained
fixed and staring at the newcomer. For it was the dead Karl; Karl,
surely! Karl!--his plump figure belted in a French officer's tunic; his
flaxen hair clipped a little closer, but still its fleece showing under
his kepi. Karl, his cheeks more cherubic than ever--unchanged but for a
tiny yellow toy mustache curling up over the corners of his full lips.
Karl, beaming at his companions in his old way, but rattling off French
vivacities without the faintest trace of accent. Could he be mistaken?
Was it some phenomenal resemblance, or had the soul of the German
private been transmigrated to the French officer.

The consul hurriedly called the garcon. "Who is that officer who has
just arrived?"

"It is the Captain Christian, of the Intelligence Bureau," said the