It was while Hippolyte was dabbing his cheeks with a damp towel that
M'sieur Bonneton and Sergeant-Major Coghlan, having comfortably satisfied
their respective appetites with _crêpes_ and pancakes, proceeded to call
upon each other, bearing gifts. The dignity of the presentations was
impaired by the fact that they almost collided on the stairs.

"Mrs. Coghlan wud like your opinion on these pancakes," said the Sergeant-
Major, dexterously fielding one that was sliding from the plate.

"And permit me to beg your acceptance of these _crêpes_, a dish peculiar to
France and eaten as a matter of custom on Mardi Gras," said M'sieur in his
most correct English, producing his plate with a flourish worthy of a
head-waiter.

"'Tis with all the pleasure in life we'll be tasting thim--" commenced
Coghlan. Then his eye fell on the dish and his voice dropped. M'sieur was
also showing signs of embarrassment.

"It seems _crêpes_ is but another name for pancakes," said the Sergeant-
Major heavily, after a pause.

"But yes--and I am already filled to repletion."

"We've aiten our fill too, Peggy an' me, an' they're spoilt whin they're
cowld. It's severely disappointed Peggy will be to find thim wasted."

"And Madame will be desolated to despair."

They stared blankly at each other for a few minutes. Then M'sieur took a
heroic resolve.