“It was very tiring. The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. “How dare you? You are trying to kidnap my babies!” Clotilde demanded. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. There are some papers I have to look through to-night—important papers. Away in London even now Capes was packing and preparing; Capes, the magic man whose touch turned one to trembling fire. . ’ ‘Then they are soldiers.
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