the table at which he and three companions sat, "Advise me as to the investment of this wealth, fifty centimes, all at once. Shall it be five glorious green absinthes or five chopes of the wine of Algiers?—or shall I warm my soul with burning bapédi …?"
"Four bottles of wine is what you want for André, Raoul, Léon, and yourself," was the reply. "Absinthe is the mamma and the papa and all the ancestors of le cafard and you are far too young and tender for bapédi. It mingles not well with mother's milk, that. …"
In the extreme corner of the big, badly-lit room, a Legionary sat alone, his back to the company, his head upon his folded arms. Passing near, on her tour of ministration, Carmelita's quick eye and ear perceived that the man was sobbing and weeping bitterly. It might be the poor Grasshopper passing through one of his terrible dark hours, and Carmelita's kind heart melted with pity for the poor soul, smartest of soldiers, and maddest of madmen.
Going over to where he sat apart, Carmelita bent over him, placed her arm around his neck, and stroked his glossy dark hair.
"Pourquoi faites-vous Suisse, mon pauvre?" she murmured with a motherly caress. "What is it? Tell Carmelita." The man raised his face from his arms, smiled through his tears and kissed the hand that rested on his shoulder. The handsome and delicate face, the small, well-kept hands, the voice, were those of a man of culture and refinement.
"I ja nai ka!—How delightful!" he said. "You will make things right. I am to be made machi-bugiyo, governor of the city to-morrow, and I wish to remain a Japanese lady. I do not want to lay aside the suma-
