"You can tell me, perhaps, where Jacques Caillon, Garde de Chasse, is to be found?"
"I am Jacques Caillon, sir," was the answer, as he saluted in soldier fashion, while a look of anxiety stole over his face.
"I have something to speak to you about," said I, dismounting, and giving him the bridle of my horse. "Throw him some corn, if you have got it, and then let us talk together;" and with this I walked into the garden, and seated myself on a bench.
If Jacques be an old soldier, thought I, the only way is to come the officer over him; discipline and obedience are never forgotten, and whatever chances I may have of his confidence will depend on how much I seem his superior. It appeared as if this conjecture was well founded, for as Jacques came back, his manner betrayed every sign of respect and deference. There was an expression of almost fear in his face, as, with his hand to his cap, he asked, "What were my orders?"
The very deference of his air was disconcerting, and so, assuming a look of easy cordiality, I said,
"First, I will ask you to give me something to eat; and, secondly, to give me your company for half an hour."
Jacques promised both, and learning that I preferred my breakfast in the open air, proceeded to arrange the table under a blossoming chestnut-tree.
"Are you quite alone here?" asked I, as he passed back and forward.
"Quite alone, sir; and except a stray fagot-cutter or a chance traveler who may have lost his way, I never see a human face from year's end to year's end. It's a lonely thing for an old soldier, too," said he, with a sigh.
"I know more than one who would envy you, Jacques," said I, and the words made him almost start as I spoke them. The coffee was now ready, and I proceeded to make my breakfast with all the appetite of a long fast.