"By George!"

"I did not recall you when we bumped a while ago; but once I had gone
by you, your face became singularly familiar."

"Funny, isn't it?" And Fitzgerald took hold of the extended hand.
"The sight of these toys always gets into my heart."

"Into mine also. Who can say what might have been had they not crushed
out the great spirit lying dormant in his little soul? I saw Bernhardt
and Coquelin recently in _L'Aiglon_. Ah, but they play it! It drove
me here to-day. But this three-cornered hat holds me longest," with a
quick gesture toward the opposite wall. "Can't you see the lean face
under it, the dark eyes, the dark hair falling upon his collar? What
thoughts have run riot under this piece of felt? The brain, the brain!
A lieutenant at this time; a short, wiry, cold-blooded youngster, but
dreaming the greatest dream in the world!"

Fitzgerald smiled. "You are an enthusiast like myself."

"Who wouldn't be who has, visited every battlefield, who has spent days
wandering about Corsica, Elba, St. Helena? But you?"

"My word, I have done the same things."

They exchanged smiles.

"What written tale can compare with this living one?" continued
Breitmann, his eyes brilliant, his voice eager and the tone rich. "Ah!
How many times have I berated the day I was born! To have lived in