His blue eyes were smiling and his white teeth gleamed in the lamplight but his face bore the marks of storms that sweep the soul. And on his right temple was visible the end of a large scar that extended up under the hair.
"My dear old Noel!" exclaimed Floriot, hurrying to meet him with both hands extended. The friends stood with their hands locked and looked each other over with the affection mixed with curiosity that may be marked when two who have been as brothers meet after a long separation. "This is my friend, Dr. Chennel," said Floriot, turning at last. "Shake hands with him, old man! He has just saved my boy's life!"
"Then I'm more than glad to shake you by the hand, Doctor," said Noel, gracefully, as he took the doctor's fingers in his. "For anything that touches Floriot comes very near to me!"
The doctor bowed his appreciation and Floriot, who had never taken his eyes off his friend, remarked with a smile:
"You look in very good health for a dead man." Noel turned and asked with whimsical surprise: "Then you heard of my suicide?"
"Yes," returned his friend gravely, "and the papers said you were dead."
"In the words of a great American humorist," laughed Noel, 'The report was greatly exaggerated!'"
"Two bullets, they said."
"Yes, and they were right," nodded the "suicide," brightly. "But two bullets were not enough for me. I've always been a bit hardheaded, you know, though one of the doctors had another explanation."
The other two looked at him inquiringly, particularly Dr. Chennel, who was prepared to combat any heretical theory.