delight redoubled in rubbing shoulders with the people whose effigies would never appear astride ramping-eared horses in squares built to commemorate victories. He came out on a broad straight avenue, where there were many American officers he had to salute, and M. P.'s and shops with wide plate-glass windows, full of objects that had a shiny, expensive look. “Another case of victories,” he thought, as he went off into a side street, taking with him a glimpse of the bluish-grey pile of the Opera, with its pompous windows and its naked bronze ladies holding lamps. He was in a narrow street full of hotels and fashionable barber shops, from which came an odor of cosmopolitan perfumery, of casinos and ballrooms and diplomatic receptions, when he noticed an American officer coming towards him, reeling a little,--a tall, elderly man with a red face and a bottle nose. He saluted. The officer stopped still, swaying from side to side, and said in a whining voice: “Shonny, d'you know where Henry'sh Bar is?” “No, I don't, Major,” said Andrews, who felt himself enveloped in an odor of cocktails. “You'll help me to find it, shonny, won't you?... It's dreadful not to be able to find it.... I've got to meet Lootenant Trevors in Henry'sh Bar.” The major steadied himself by putting a hand on Andrews' shoulder. A civilian passed them. “Dee-donc,” shouted the major after him, “Dee-donc, Monshier, ou ay Henry'sh Bar?” The man walked on without answering. “Now isn't that like a frog, not to understand his own language?” said the major. “But there's Henry's Bar, right across the street,” said Andrews suddenly. “Bon, bon,” said the major. They crossed the street and went in. At the bar the major, still clinging to Andrews' shoulder, whispered in his ear: “I'm A. W. O. L., shee?... Shee?.... Whole damn Air Service is A. W. O. L. Have a drink with me.... You enlisted man? Nobody cares here.... Warsh over, Sonny.... Democracy is shafe for the world.” Andrews was just raising a champagne cocktail to his lips, looking with amusement at the crowd of American officers and civilians who crowded into the small mahogany barroom, when a voice behind him drawled out: “I'll be damned!” Andrews turned and saw Henslowe's brown face and small silky mustache. He abandoned his major to his fate. “God, I'm glad to see you.... I was afraid you hadn't been able to work it.”...Said Henslowe slowly, stuttering a little. “I'm about crazy, Henny, with delight. I just got in a couple of hours ago....” Laughing, interrupting each other, they chattered in broken sentences. “But how in the name of everything did you get here?” “With the major?” said Andrews, laughing. “What the devil?” “Yes; that major,” whispered Andrews in his friend's ear, “rather the worse for wear, asked me to lead him to Henry's Bar and just fed me a cocktail in the memory of Democracy, late defunct.... But what are you doing here? It's not exactly... exotic.”