However, my services are at your command if they be desired in any way." De Croix laughed, perfectly at his ease in a moment.
"'T is scarce so serious," he explained lightly.

"A mere interchange of compliments over the respective merits of our nations in war." The stranger looked at him intently, and with some manifest disapproval.
"And yours, no doubt, was France," he said shortly.
De Croix bowed, his hand upon his heart.
"I have worn her uniform, Monsieur." "I thought as much, and fear my sympathies may be altogether with your antagonist in the controversy.

Yet what's the use of wasting life like that?
Surely there is fighting enough in this world of ours for such young blades, without inventing cause for quarrel.

Come, sit down once more, and join with us in whatsoever cheer our landlord may provide." As he spoke, he flung aside his cloak, revealing beneath merely the well-worn dress of a frontiersman, with an army sword-belt buckled about the waist.
"Come, Walter," he called to his companion, who remained standing, "there is to be no touch of ceremony here to-night.

Gentlemen, I am Captain Wells, formerly of the army, now Indian agent at Fort Wayne; and this is Sergeant Jordan." The Frenchman bowed gracefully, and extended a card across the table.
The other glanced at it carelessly.
"Ah! De Croix; pleased to meet you.