"Clever boy that knows his own father--or thinks he does--especially when he's never set eyes on him! How would you like to come back to France with me, youngster?"
"To France?" gasped Jack.
"Into the army. I have influence. I can push you on."
"The French army?" And Jack shook his head doubtfully. "I don't think--I--quite understand. Are you an Englishman, sir?
"A Carron of Carne."
"And in the French army?"
"As it happens. You don't approve of that?"
Jack shook his head. Jim, with his wide, excited eyes and parted lips, was a study in emotions--amazement, excitement, puzzlement, admiration mixed with disapproval--all these and more worked ingenuously in his open boyish face and made it look younger than Jack's, which was knitted thoughtfully.
"If it came to that I should probably claim exemption from serving against England, though, mon Dieu! it's little enough I have to thank her for, and it would be to my hurt. Sometime you will understand it all. And you?" he asked Jim, so unexpectedly that he jumped again. "You feel the same? A couple of years at St. Cyr, and then say, a sub-lieutenancy in my own cuirassiers, and all my influence behind you. As a personal friend of the Emperor, Colonel Caron de Carne is not by any means powerless, I can assure you."
But Jim wagged his head decisively. He did not understand how this mysterious, but undoubtedly fine-looking father came to be apparently both a Frenchman and an Englishman, but he himself was an Englishman, and an Englishman he would remain.