the gardens. Hira Singh was the last to go, and he looked at
Dirkovitch. But Dirkovitch had departed into a brandy-paradise of
his own. His lips moved without sound and he was studying the
coffin on the ceiling.

"White - white all over," said Basset-Holmer, the adjutant. "What
a pernicious renegade he must be! I wonder where he came from?"

The colonel shook the man gently by the arm, and "Who are you?"
said he.

There was no answer. The man stared round the mess-room and smiled
in the colonel's face. Little Mildred, who was always more of a
woman than a man till "Boot and saddle" was sounded, repeated the
question in a voice that would have drawn confidences from a
geyser. The man only smiled. Dirkovitch at the far end of the
table slid gently from his chair to the floor. No son of Adam in
this present imperfect world can mix the Hussars' champagne with
the Hussars' brandy by five and eight glasses of each without
remembering the pit whence he was digged and descending thither.
The band began to play the tune with which the White Hussars from
the date of their formation have concluded all their functions.
They would sooner be disbanded than abandon that tune; it is a
part of their system. The man straightened himself in his chair
and drummed on the table with his fingers.

"I don't see why we should entertain lunatics," said the colonel.
"Call a guard and send him off to the cells. We'll look into the
business in the morning. Give him a glass of wine first, though."