The table was as still as death. The beard had proved himself worthy of
this compliment; his voice was the voice of drama, and his gestures
such as every Frenchman delights in beholding and executing. Every ear
was his, now.

"I have no rancor. I am, by nature, what God made me, a peaceable man,
but"--here the voice made a wild _crescendo_--"if I ever meet my
colonel--_gare a lui_! I told him so. I waited two years, two long
years, till I was released; then I walked up to him" (the beard rose
here, putting his hand to his forehead), "I saluted" (the hand made the
salute), "and I said to him, 'Mon colonel, you convicted me, on false
evidence, of a crime I never committed. You punished me. It is two
years since then. But I have never forgotten. Pray to God we may never
meet in civil life, for then yours would end!"

"_Allons, allons!_ A man after all must do his duty. A colonel--he
can't go into details!" remonstrated the hostess, with her knife in the
air.

"I would stick him, I tell you, as I would a pig--or a Prussian! I live
but for that!"

"_Monstre!_" cried the table in chorus, with a laugh, as it took its
wine. And each turned to his neighbor to prove the beard in the wrong.

"Of what crime is the defendant guilty--he who is to be tried
to-night?" Charm asked of a silent man, with sweet serious eyes and a
rough gray beard, seated next her. Of all the beards at the table, this
one alone had been content with listening.