The smile upon his face was sleeker than ever.

He was very amused and contented with his passenger in the compartment numbers 11 and 12.

He took the cap off his head and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
"Ouf! It is hot to-night." He looked after Hillyard with a chuckle, and remarked to the controller, "This is a customer who does not like his little comforts to be disarranged!" The controller nodded contemptuously.
"They must travel--the English! The tourism--that is sacred, even if all Europe burns." Hillyard strolled towards the stairs, and as he drew near to them his eyes brightened.

A man about six years older than himself, tall, broad-shouldered, slim of waist, with a short, fair moustache, was descending towards him.
* * * * * The war has killed many foolish legends, but none more foolish than the legend of the typical Frenchman, conceived as a short, rotund, explosive person, with a square, brown beard of curly baby-hair and a shiny silk hat with a flat brim.

There have been too many young athletes of clean build on view whose nationality, language and the uniforms of powder-blue and khaki could alone decide.