‘Very little, sir,’ said I, taking courage from the difficulty in which I found myself.
‘What of your father, boy?—is he a soldier?’
‘He was, sir,’ replied I, with firmness.
‘Then he is dead? In what corps did he serve?’
‘In the Garde du Corps,’ said I proudly.
The old general gave a short cough, and seemed to search for his snuff-box to cover his confusion; the next moment, however, he had regained his self-possession, and continued: ‘And since that event—I mean since you lost your father—what have you been doing? How have you supported yourself?’
‘In various ways, sir, said I, with a shrug of the shoulders, to imply that the answer was too tedious to listen to. ‘I have studied to be a priest, and I have served as a “rat” in the Prison du Temple.’
‘You have certainly tried the extremes of life,’ said he, laughing; ‘and now you wish, probably, to hit the juste milieu, by becoming a soldier?’
‘Even so, sir,’ said I easily. ‘It was a mere accident that mounted me upon this caisson, but I am quite ready to believe that Fortune intended me kindly when she did so.’
‘These gredins fancy that they are all born to be generals of France, said the old man, laughing; ‘but, after all, it is a harmless delusion, and easily curable by a campaign or two. Come, sirrah, I’ll find out a place for you, where, if you cannot serve the Republic better, you will, at least, do her less injury than as a driver in her artillery. Bertholet, let him be enrolled in your detachment of the gendarme, and give him my address—I wish to speak to him to-morrow.’