197," he added, turning to the waiter.

"Do not forget the number.

197," he added, turning to me, "is an absolutely light wine,--for luncheon, delicious!" We were alone once more.

Louis bent, smiling, over my table.
"Monsieur is much interested," he said, "in the disappearance of an acquaintance, a passing travelling companion, but he does not ask of affairs which concern him more gravely." "Of Tapilow!" I exclaimed quickly.
Louis nodded.
"Tapilow is in an hospital and he will live," Louis declared slowly, "but all his life he will limp, and all his life he will carry a scar from his forehead to his mouth." I nodded meditatively.
"It is, perhaps," I answered, "a more complete punishment." I fancied that in Louis' green eyes there shot for a moment a gleam of something like admiration.
"Monsieur has courage," he murmured.
"Why not ?" I answered.

"We all of us have a certain amount of philosophy, you know, Louis.