He had it engraved on his cigarette case, a bird of some kind tiptoeing on a helmet, and beneath there was a motto, _Fide non armis_." "The devil!" exclaimed the young German.

"Why, that's very like--" "Very like the device of the Austrian Schomburgs.

Well, I remembered the cigarette case, and one night at a concert--in Berlin, you know--I chanced to sit with some friends at a table quite near where he sat alone; I had my eye on him, trying to assure myself of his identity, when, in closing his cigarette case, it fell almost at my feet, and I bumped heads with a waiter as I picked it up--I wanted to make sure--and handed it to him, the imitation baron." "That was your chance to startle him a trifle, I should say," remarked the German.
"He was the man, beyond doubt.

There was no mistaking the cigarette ease.
What I said was,"-- continued Chauvenet,--"'Allow me, Baron!'" "Well spoken!" exclaimed the Spanish officer.
"Not so well, either," laughed Chauvenet.

"He had the best of it--he's a clever man, I am obliged to admit! He said--" and Chauvenet's mirth stifled him for a moment.
"Yes; what was it ?" demanded the German impatiently.
"He said: 'Thank you, waiter!' and put the cigarette case back into his pocket!" They all laughed.