Another officer came up, a general, white-haired and sombre.
"Is this the Vicomte de Morteyn?" he asked, looking at Jack.
"His nephew; the vicomte has gone to Paris. My name is Marche," said Jack.
The general saluted him; Jack bowed.
"I regret the military necessity of occupying the Château; the government will indemnify Monsieur le Vicomte—"
Jack held up his hand: "My uncle is an old soldier of France—the government is welcome; I bid you welcome in the name of the Vicomte de Morteyn."
The old general flushed and bowed deeply.
"I thank you in the name of the government. Blood will tell. It is easy, Monsieur Marche, to see that you are the nephew of the Vicomte de Morteyn."
"Monsieur Marche," said the young dragoon officer, respectfully, "is a friend of General Farron."
"I had the honour to be attached as correspondent to his staff—in Oran," said Jack.