"Serve supper here, Hawkins," commanded the first, his back still
turned toward us. "Anything you may chance to have in the house,--only
let there be little delay."

He was a tall, dark-featured man, smoothly shaven, as swarthy as an
Indian, with stern dark eyes, thick coarse hair, and an abrupt manner
born of long command. His companion, of lighter build and younger
face, was attired in a travel-stained uniform of blue and buff; but he
who was evidently the leader was so completely wrapped within the folds
of a riding-cloak as to reveal nothing of rank other than his
unmistakable military presence and bearing. Turning from the door, he
swept a penetrating glance over us, loosening the clasp of his cloak as
he did so.

"I regret having thoughtlessly interrupted your quarrel, gentlemen," he
said brusquely, "but this appears to be the sole excuse for a
public-room in the place. However, my services are at your command if
they be desired in any way."

De Croix laughed, perfectly at his ease in a moment.

"'T is scarce so serious," he explained lightly. "A mere interchange
of compliments over the respective merits of our nations in war."

The stranger looked at him intently, and with some manifest disapproval.

"And yours, no doubt, was France," he said shortly.

De Croix bowed, his hand upon his heart.