Roy obeyed with alacrity, and whatever the move meant to Denham, it served to lift Roy out of his unwonted fit of misery. He was soon deeply absorbed in the mimic fight, and for once he found himself on the way to win an easy victory. Roy became exultant--till the honour and glory of success were impaired by the casual discovery that Ivor could not tell a knight from a bishop except by feeling. Roy stared wonderingly into the spare bronzed face. "Why, Den!" "All right; this is my bishop." "I say, you didn't take that for a knight?" "I believe I was under the delusion for a moment." "But why? There, now it's your turn. Oh, I say!--you're going to move my king." Denham laughed slightly. "I am rather a futile opponent, seemingly. Never mind. Now it is your turn." "What's the matter? Can't you see?" "Not well; just a headache. Go on; you'll soon end the game at this rate." Roy showed himself capable of heroism. Though he had never yet beaten Denham in full fight, without having some of his adversary's best pieces presented to him, though the desire of his heart was for a victory, and though he was on the high road to administering checkmate, one more glance decided him. He swept his arm over the board. Denham half smiled, and made no protest. "You are a kind fellow," he said, as he went back to his former retreat; and Roy dropped on the floor to pick up the scattered pieces. "Why didn't you tell me? You'd no business to play. Can't I do anything for you?" "Yes, if you don't mind"--after a moment's racking of his brain to think of anything that might keep the boy occupied. "I wish you would unpack my valise--just the things that I shall want to-night." Roy was delighted and went off at full speed. In the passage he found himself face to face with Lucille, and all but rushed into her arms. Lucille drew back. "I say! Oh, I beg your pardon, mademoiselle. I'm going to unpack for Den. He's just floored; can't even play chess. It's all this horrid beastly bother, having to come to Verdun, you know. He never used to be like that. Den was always up to anything. What have you got there?" as she held up one hand. "A letter!" "It is medicine for Monsieur le Capitaine--from England," Lucille said, with a look of heartfelt pleasure. "It really is from England! Won't he be glad? Where did you get it from? You shall give it to him yourself. Yes; I declare you shall." Roy flung open the salon door, and announced, "Here's Mademoiselle de St. Roques. Den, she's got something for you! Guess what it is. Come in, Mademoiselle." Ivor stood up, not grateful to Roy at this moment. "Pray take a seat," he urged. "It's a letter--a letter--a letter from England," cried the boy. "You have brought this from the post?" asked Denham, as he received from her hand a folded and sealed packet.