"But I have found him quiet enough," said I; "I never backed him till yesterday, and he has carried me well and peaceably."
"Ah, that he will now, I warrant him; since the day a shell burst under him at Waitzen, he never showed any vice. The wound nearly left the ribs bare, and he was for months and months invalided; after that he was sold out of the cavalry, I don't know where or to whom. The next time I saw him was in his present service."
"Then you are acquainted with the present owner?" asked I, eagerly.
"As every Frenchman is?" was the curt rejoinder.
"Parbleu! it will seem a droll confession, then, when I tell you, that I myself do not even know his name."
The look of contempt these words brought to my companion's face could not, it seemed, be either repressed or concealed; and although my conscience acquitted me of deserving such a glance, I own that I felt insulted by it.
"You are pleased to disbelieve me, Master Caillon," said I, sternly, "which makes me suppose that you are neither so old nor so good a soldier as I fancied; at least, in the corps I had the honor to serve with, the word of an officer was respected like an 'order of the day.'"
He stood erect as if on parade, under this rebuke, but made no answer.
"Had you simply expressed surprise at what I said, I would have given you the explanation frankly and freely; as it is, I shall content myself with repeating what I said—I do not even know his name."
The same imperturbable look and the same silence met me as before.