Two years afterwards the Prince came back. I was then eleven, and thought that he must have lost all remembrance of me.
But he had not; and he came to me.
“Ah, art thou not Réné Besson?” he said. “Nephew of Father Descharmes?”
“Yes, Prince.”
“Then here is something for thee,” said he, giving me a gun. “And this is for thy uncle,” he continued, handing me a folded paper.
This paper contained the appointment of my uncle to the vacant post of chief huntsman.
As for the gun, it was a beautiful weapon, and I have carefully kept it through my career, in memory of the unfortunate Prince who gave it.
In the meantime I was growing up. I had learned to read and write indifferently well; and whilst my uncle was busy in his vocation, I used to occupy myself with carpentry, a calling for which I evinced much aptitude and taste.
I was now twelve years of age. I knew every inch of the Forest of Argonne, and I was as good a shot as any of the keepers, and my sole ambition was to take my uncle’s place when he resigned, which he intended to do in four or five years.
There was a place, however, left vacant by the resignation of a keeper, which I thought would just suit me for the time; and I determined to solicit the patronage of the Duke D’Enghien.