"And there are others who may perhaps consider themselves aggrieved." At Colville's club, where they dined, he met more than one friend.
"Hallo!" said one who had the ruddy countenance and bluff manners of a retired major.

"Hallo! Who'd have expected to see you here?
I didn't know--I--thought--eh! dammy!" And a hundred facetious questions gleamed from the major's eye.
"All right, my boy," answered Colville, cheerfully.

"I am off to France to-morrow morning." The Major shook his head wisely as if in approval of a course of conduct savouring of that prudence which is the better part of valour, glanced at Loo Barebone, and waited in vain for an invitation to take a vacant chair near at hand.
"Still in the south of France, I suppose ?" "Still in the south of France," replied Colville, turning to Barebone in a final way, which had the effect of dismissing this inquisitive idler.
While they were at dinner another came.

He was a raw-boned Scotchman, who spoke in broken English when the waiter was absent and in perfect French when that servitor hovered near.
"I wish I could show my face in Paris," he said, frankly, "but I can't.
Too much mixed up with Louis Philippe to find favour in the eyes of the Prince President." "Why ?" asked Colville.

"What could you gain by showing in Paris a face which I am sure has the stamp of innocence all over it ?" The Scotchman laughed curtly.
"Gain ?" he answered.