‘Ask him if it was by his orders that the guard was assailed,’ said the general.
I put the question in about as many words, but he made no reply.
‘Does the man know where he is? does he know who I am?’ repeated Serasin passionately.
‘He knows both well enough, sir,’ said I; ‘this silence is a mere defiance of us.’
‘Parbleu!’ cried an officer, ‘that is the coquin took poor Delaitre’s equipments; the very uniform he has on was his.’
‘The fellow was never a soldier,’ said another.
‘I know him well,’ interposed a third—’ he is the very terror of the townsfolk.’
‘Who gave him his commission?—who appointed him?’ asked Serasin.
Apparently the fellow could follow some words of French, for as the general asked this he drew from his pocket a crumpled and soiled paper, which he threw heedlessly upon the table before us.
‘Why, this is not his name, sir,’ said I; ‘this appointment is made out in the name of Nicholas Downes, and our friend here is called Dowall.’