sharp glances which the man kept casting at him, as they walked side by side.
"Did I hear your name was Pascal Tourelle, monsieur?" asked the soldier suspiciously.
"I don't know what you heard, my man, but it is my name. Pascal the First, that is."
"You've been a soldier, monsieur, haven't you? I judge by your bearing."
"In the Paris train bands. But one twin was as much as my father could spare to the army."
"Twin?" questioned the man doubtingly.
"Yes, twin. Pascal the Second," laughed Pascal. "A good soldier he is too; and, like a good soldier, with a palate for good wine and an eye for a pretty face. Lately come to Morvaix. His presence brought me here. He's at the Castle."
"I know him," was the reply, with a smile and a nod and a knowing wink.
"What! You know Pascal the Second!" and he stopped and held out his hand. "Any comrade of his is my friend, and I can do what he very frequently can't, pledge the friendship in a flask of good wine."
"You're wonderfully like him, and to bear the same name is curious too." He spoke as if still suspicious.
"Ah, if you knew the devils of messes he's got me into in Paris with this same name which my father's whim gave us, and this strange likeness! But come, where shall we have the wine?"
The soldier soon found a wine shop, and Pascal plied him freely with liquor, a second flask quickly following the first. When the second was still half full he rose and said—
"We've no time to finish it, I fear. We must find M. Grimaud, the leather merchant, who will vouch for me at the gate." He coined the name at a venture.
"'Tis a pity to leave it," said the soldier, eyeing the flask wistfully. "I don't get such liquor every day."
