So Charles waylaid Antoine Sebastian the next day as he went out of
the Frauenthor for his walk in the morning sun by the side of the
frozen Mottlau. He was better received than he had any reason to
expect.

"I am only a lieutenant," he said, "but in these days, monsieur, you
know--there are possibilities."

He laughed gaily as he waved his gloves in the direction of Russia,
across the river. But Sebastian's face clouded, and Charles, who
was quick and sympathetic, abandoned that point in his argument
almost before the words were out of his lips.

"I have a little money," he said, "in addition to my pay. I assure
you, monsieur, I am not of mean birth."

"You are an orphan?" said Sebastian curtly.

"Yes."

"Of the . . . Terror?"

"Yes; I--well, one does not make much of one's parentage in these
rough times--monsieur."

"Your father's name was Charles--like your own?"

"Yes."

"The second son?"