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mutineers, must, for the honor of
France, be henceforth dead. "Yes,
Monsieur," he continued, "and the ad
miralty consigns me to perdition, or,
what is worse, to Kalamazoo, 'Florida
and Oshkosh, Winnipeg, those, bar
barous cities of a barbarous nation.
But I shall not survive. Tonight I
blow my brains out, and when you
lay a flower secretly upon my- grave,
you will weep a little and say, 'He
died for France.' "
. "But you shall live for France,"
cried M. Brouet. "Nov, Monsieur
Lieutenant," he continued, "suppose
I give you back your rank and com
mand nay, suppose I have you pro
moted to be 'a captain with a salary
sufficient to enable you to marry
Mademoiselle Smeeth, the air pro
duct of that barbarous nation across
the water. What then?"
"How?" murmured the lieutenant,
looking forlornly upon his interroga
tor. , "I will expound to you," replied
Monsieur Brouet. "Now listen. Do
you know that the Clarion is a power
in France? That ministers tremble
when they unfold its pages each day
lest they find themselves pilloried
therein? Assuredly, the Clarion, mir
roring as it does the soul of our fair
country, concentrating under the
burning glass of its scrutiny all the
essences of justices, fraternity, and
civilization, can give you your heart's
"Now, Monsieur, listen. Go home.
Tomorrow morning at 11 o'clock be
waiting in your parade uniform, out
side your residence. Then you will
see what you will see."
He refused to offer any explanation
of this enigma, and the unfortunate
lieutenant, slightly cheered, but still
disconsolate, took himself homeward
as the clocks of the capital were"
striking midnight. Then, remember
ing the Monsieur Brouet was not. ac
quainted with his change of address,
he packed his few possessions once
more and made his wayto his rooms.
This time he let himself in with the
latchkey which had somehow surviv
ed the -various vicissitudes of the past
In his rooms, as he had expected,
he found his valet, entertaining; a
choice party of hack-drivers and but-x
lers around his card table; Seeing
his master, the man sprang to his
feet in terror, his teeth chattering.
"Monsieur!" he gasped. I Ithough
you were dead!"
"So I perceive," replied the lieuten
ant amiably. "Continue your game,
"0, no, Monsieur. I am. overcome.
My heart my emotions are pro
foundly stirred. With your permis
sion " . .
"With my permission you will con
tinue your game," answered Lieuten
ant Savard. "Wiat is more, I shall
join you. It is essential that nobody
leaves this room till 6 o'clock, for, if .
I understand my friend Brouet cor
rectly, there will be a scarehead in
the Clarion tomorrow morning, and.it
must be a 'scoop.' "
That word he had learned from
Wilfred Smith, who had freqneltly re
galed him with, interesting- informa
tion concerning his experiences as an
American newspaper reporter in his
Lieutenant Savard sat dovn and
joined the party. They had a pleas
ant game till morning, when, having
. cleaned-out his guests,, he bade them
adieu and turned in for a few hours
sleep. At UL o'clock, fully dressed,
he awaited Monsieur Brouet.
And at ll.exactly the editor rushed
into the room and embraced him ex
citedly, kissing each cheek in turn.
He wore a silk hat and evening dress,
and in his-buttonhole was draped the
red ribbon of the Legion of Honon
In his hand he held a copy of the
Clarion. . .
'"Listen! Listen!" he shrilled. 'All
Paris talks of you today. And, no
paper but the Clarion had the news.
" 'On. behalf of the.glorious French
nation we present to-. our readers,