I handed him my brandy flask, which still contained a little, and he touched it to his lips with a slight nod of recognition. Invigorated by the stimulant, he supped again and again, but always cautiously, and with prudent reserve.
"You have been a soldier," said I, taking my seat at his side.
"I am a soldier," said he, with a strong emphasis on the verb.
"I, too, have served," said I; "although, probably, neither as long nor as creditably as you have."
He looked at me fixedly for a second or two and then dropped his eyes without a reply.
"You were probably with the Army of the Meuse?" said I, hazarding the guess, from remembering how many of that army had been invalided by the terrible attacks of ague contracted in North Holland.
"I served on the Rhine," said he, briefly, "but I made the campaign of Jemappes, too. I served the king also—King Louis," cried he, sternly. "Is that avowal candid enough; or do you want more!"
Another Royalist, thought I, with a sigh. Whichever way I turn they meet me—the very ground seems to give them up.
"And could you find no better trade than that of a Mouchard?" asked he, sneeringly.
"I am not a Mouchard—I never was one. I am a soldier like yourself; and, mayhap, if all were to be told, scarcely a more fortunate one."