“Neither am I,” began Braith, but Trent, with a smile at the pinched faces before him, shook his head saying, “What nonsense! You know I’m never hungry!”

West hesitated, reddened, and then slicing off Braith’s portion, but not eating any himself, said goodnight, and hurried away to number 470 Rue Serpente, where lived a pretty girl named Colette, orphan after Sedan, and Heaven alone knew where she got the roses in her cheeks, for the siege came hard on the poor.

“That chicken will delight her, but I really believe she’s in love with West,” said Trent. Then walking over to the bed: “See here, old man, no dodging, you know, how much have you left?”

The other hesitated and flushed.

“Come, old chap,” insisted Trent.

Braith drew a purse from beneath his bolster, and handed it to his friend with a simplicity that touched him.