After waiting some time, they were conducted down many long passages to a room where a tall fair man, of high face and autocratic bearing, sat at a table piled with papers and plans. Another stood looking out of the window, with his back turned to them, and a white English terrier, standing by his side on its hind legs, was trying hard to make out what he was looking at.
Jim's keeper saluted deferentially and made his statement to the tall man at the table.
"I understand you are prepared to give your parole not to attempt to escape, or to hold any communication with the outside?" said he, somewhat brusquely, first in French and then in understandable English.
"I am," bowed Jim. And at the sound of his voice the white dog came dancing across to him as though he were an old friend, and accepted his caresses with delight.
"And your brother is also a prisoner, in hospital, and you wish to attend on him."
"I do."
"What is your name and standing?"
"James Denzil Carron--cornet, 8th Hussars!" And at that the man at the window turned suddenly and looked at him, and came and stood by the table.
"You were, then, in the mad charge at Balaclava, perhaps?"
"I was."