“It is the Captain Christian, of the Intelligence Bureau,” said the waiter, with proud alacrity. “A famous officer, brave as a rabbit,—un fier lapin,—and one of our best clients. So drole, too, such a farceur and mimic. M'sieur would be ravished to hear his imitations.”
“But he looks like a German; and his name!”
“Ah, he is from Alsace. But not a German!” said the waiter, absolutely whitening with indignation. “He was at Belfort. So was I. Mon Dieu! No, a thousand times no!”
“But has he been living here long?” said the consul.
“In Paris, a few months. But his Department, M'sieur understands, takes him EVERYWHERE! Everywhere where he can gain information.”
The consul's eyes were still on the Captain Christian. Presently the officer, perhaps instinctively conscious of the scrutiny, looked towards him. Their eyes met. To the consul's surprise, the ci-devant Karl beamed upon him, and advanced with outstretched hand.
But the consul stiffened slightly, and remained so with his glass in his hand. At which Captain Christian brought his own easily to a military salute, and said politely:—
“Monsieur le Consul has been promoted from his post. Permit me to congratulate him.”
“You have heard, then?” said the consul dryly.
“Otherwise I should not presume. For our Department makes it a business—in Monsieur le Consul's case it becomes a pleasure—to know everything.”
“Did your Department know that the real Karl Schwartz has returned?” said the consul dryly.
Captain Christian shrugged his shoulders. “Then it appears that the sham Karl died none too soon,” he said lightly. “And yet”—he bent his eyes with mischievous reproach upon the consul.
“Yet what?” demanded the consul sternly.
“Monsieur le Consul might have saved the unfortunate man by accepting him as an American citizen and not helping to force him into the German service.”
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