“Sit down, men,” he said. “I am not here to disturb you, but to have a talk with Sergeant MacIntosh. Have you a room, sergeant, where we can speak privately?”
“Yes, general,” the sergeant said, saluting again, and led the way into a little room generally devoted to the use of noncommissioned officers. The officer caught Hector's eye, and beckoned to him to follow.
“Do you know me, sergeant?”
“Yes, general, you are Viscount Turenne.”
Hector gave an involuntary exclamation of horror at the thought of the freedom with which he had the day before discoursed with this famous commander. Military officers at that time did not wear any set uniforms, and indeed there was very considerable latitude among the soldiers, and it was only because he was followed by two attendants that the boy had taken him to be an officer, probably a young captain. The quietness of his dress had not even led him to believe that he belonged to a noble family.
“This lad tells me that he is the son of Captain Campbell of the Scottish regiment?”
“That is so, general.”
“And also that you were a sergeant in his father's company, and have since taken care of him.”
“I have done the best I could for him, general; but indeed the officers of the regiment allow me quite as much as the lad's food costs.”
“He seems to be a careful student of military history, sergeant?”