I had been with him an hour or a little more when an officer brought word that Marshal Turenne desired to see M. Beauchamp immediately.

"Stay where you are, Albert, and make yourself comfortable," he exclaimed. "It is an order for some piece of special service perhaps; the Marshal is always planning a fresh surprise."

Left alone, I began wondering more than ever at the remarkable change which had come over him. He was as keen as ever to perform his duties, but the quick, bright smile, the joyous laugh, the old boyish merriment had vanished.

"He is weak from his wounds," I thought; "he should have stayed longer at Gien, and let Pillot nurse him. Perhaps he will throw off this gloomy air as he gets stronger."

At the end of half-an-hour he returned, and I concluded by his manner that the Marshal had entrusted him with some important business.

"Another expedition," I said, springing up. "Take care, Raoul, the pitcher may go to the well once too often."

"It matters little, dear friend, but at present there is no need for alarm. Do you know what was in that packet from the Cardinal? Condé has won over the Duke of Lorraine, who is marching on Paris with a large army. Turenne intends to break up his camp and attack the Duke."

"That will be awkward; we shall be placed between two fires."

"Trust to Turenne; he understands his business. A few troops will stay here for a day or two. Meanwhile, we march light; we shall strike our blow at Lorraine, and then the rest of our army will rejoin us."

"Leaving Condé's troops to slip out of Etampes!"