“I was so fortunate, sir. With the help of a Frenchman.”
“Ha! How was that?”
“He was grateful, sir, to my father and wished to make a return. He had been taken in the Conscription some time before, and my father and Captain Ivor helped to pay for a substitute. It was for his old mother’s sake.”
This was a note which could not fail to appeal to the most loyal of sons, and Moore’s face showed quick response, though he only said, “Détenus?”
“Yes, sir. We were detained in 1803—my father and Captain Ivor. My mother stayed with them, and I could not get a passport. And later I was sent to Bitche.”
“Not Denham Ivor of the Guards! I remember—he was among the détenus.”
“Yes, sir. He was under you in the West Indies and in Egypt.”
“Of course. I know him well. How came he to linger so long in France?”
Roy explained briefly the small-pox complication, the General listening with still that intent gaze.
“Then Ivor is at Verdun still. Hard upon him! As gallant a young fellow as I ever had to do with. I would give something to have him with me now.”