chorused the mess.

"Poor chap! I suppose he never had the chance afterwards. How did
he come here?" said the colonel.

The dingy heap in the chair could give no answer.

"Do you know who you are?"

It laughed weakly.

"Do you know that you are Limmason -Lieutenant Limmason of the
White Hussars?"

Swiftly as a shot came the answer, in a slightly surprised tone,
"Yes, I'm -Limmason, of course." The light died out in his eyes,
and the man collapsed, watching every motion of Dirkovitch with
terror. A flight from Siberia may fix a few elementary facts in
the mind, but it does not seem to lead to continuity of thought.
The man could not explain how, like a homing pigeon, he had found
his way to his own old mess again. Of what he had suffered or seen
he knew nothing. He cringed before Dirkovitch as instinctively as
he had pressed the spring of the candlestick, sought the picture
of the drum-horse, and answered to the toast of the Queen. The
rest was a blank that the dreaded Russian tongue could only in
part remove. His head bowed on his breast, and he giggled and
cowered alternately.

The devil that lived in the brandy prompted Dirkovitch at this
extremely inopportune moment to make a speech. He rose, swaying