louder burst of laughter came from young Lieutenant Praslin’s corner.

“I tell you she is young and she is pretty, and she can dance,” Praslin was protesting, quite red in the face with the fervour of his defence.

“And she is at old Delagrange’s Bar in Casablanca!” cried an officer, laughing.

Here at all events was a statement which could be received with incredulity.

“But I am not the only one to say so,” exclaimed Praslin.

“Then we must admit that the case is serious,” said Commandant Marnier very gravely. “Come, let us consider the case of the young lady. Who is this other who agrees with you, my friend?”

Praslin began to stammer. Commandant Marnier of the Zouaves was the heavy gun of the mess, a disillusioned man of forty-five with a satirical and at times a bitter tongue.

“Who is this other?” he asked, leaning forward.

“Little Boutreau of the Legion,” Praslin answered miserably.

“Name of a name, here is an authority!” cried the Commandant. “And how old is the little Boutreau?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Yes? And where has the little Boutreau been stationed?”

Young Praslin’s voice got smaller and smaller as he replied: “For the last two years on an advanced post upon the Algerian frontier.”

“Where no doubt he has had full opportunity to compute the beauty of women,” said the Commandant sagely. “I think we can now construct a picture of this houri. She will be fifty if she is a day. In the colour and texture of her skin she will be very like a fig. Not all the kohl in the East will lend a sparkle to her eyes, nor all the red salve freshness to her faded lips. She will wear a red dress with a swaying whale-boned skirt glittering with spangles and she will tell you that she dined at the Ritz in Paris a fortnight ago.”

The description was not inept, but his voice changed now into a snarl. Commandant Marnier had the ill humour of men who sit all their lives in the company of their juniors and see themselves overpassed by each in turn.

“The ladies of the Villa Iris! Have we not all sought our good fortune at their hands? The 

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