I saw the boy's eye brighten as it fell upon the cakes. He glanced from them to me, as I was offered my choice, and said hastily: "There is one cake there which I want very much. I suppose if I tell you which it is, you will eat it." "There is also only one which I care for," said I. "I wonder if it's the same?" "Probably," said the boy. "If you take it, there isn't another which I would be found dead with in my mouth, on a desert island. And I haven't had much dinner." "_I_ had to wash under the pump," said I. "Still, greatness lies in magnanimity. You shall choose your cake first; but remember, you cannot have it, and eat it, too; so make up your mind quickly which is better." "I always thought that a stupid saying," remarked the Brat, as he helped himself to a ginger-nut with pink icing. "I have my cake, and when I have eaten it, I take another." "Your experience in life has been fortunate," I replied, contenting myself with the second-best cake. "But it has not been long. When you are a man----" "A man! I would rather die--young than grow up to be one." "Indeed?" I exclaimed, surprised at this outburst. "I hate men." "Ah, perhaps then, your experience has not been as fortunate in men as in cakes." "No, it hasn't. It has been just the opposite." "One would say, 'Thereby hangs a tale.'" "There does. But it is not for strangers." "I'm not a lover of after-dinner stories. Here comes the coffee. Luckily, there's plenty for us both. Will you have a cigarette?" "No, thanks." "A cigar, then?" "I don't smoke." "Ah, some boys' heads _won't_ stand it. I'm ashamed to say that I smoked at fourteen. But perhaps you're not yet----" "I will change my mind and have a cigarette, since you are so obliging." "Sure you won't regret it?" "Quite sure, thank you." "They're rather strong." "I'm not afraid." He took a cigarette from my case, and smoked it daintily. Whether it were my imagination, or whether a slight pallor did really become visible under the sun-tan on the velvet-smooth face, I am not certain: but at all events he rose when nothing was left between his fingers save an ash clinging to a bit of gold paper, and excused himself with belated politeness. Not long after, my bed was made up on the floor, and I slept as I fancy few kings sleep. Strange; not then, or ever, did I dream of Helen. * * * * * The voice of Finois or some near relative of his roused me at dawn. I remembered where I was, whither bound, and sleep instantly seemed irrelevant. I scrambled up from my lonely couch, went to the open window, which was a square of grey-green light, and looked out at the mountain walls of the valley basin.