“I foresee that we shall have to pay pretty liberally for that leave,” added the Colonel.
“Did you see many friends there, George?”
“A good many coming and going. All of course who were at Fontainebleau are here, and numbers from Valenciennes and Brussels. We came across Mr. Kinsland, and General Cunningham and Welby, Greville, Franklyn and others.”
“Den, I say, do come along,” urged Roy, who had already been for a run, but who greatly preferred a companion.
“All right—if you don’t mind paying a call by the way.”
Roy declared himself ready for anything, and they went first toward the lower part of the town, on a level with the river. Roy, full as usual of ideas and talk, poured out for his companion’s edification some items of information, which he had gained from Mademoiselle de St. Roques.
“She says Verdun is an awfully old place—goes back to almost the days of Charlemagne. When did Charlemagne live? And only a little while ago it was a French border town—frontier town, I mean—but it isn’t now, because Napoleon has conquered such a lot of Europe. And do you know, the Prussians took it from France only just a few years ago, after quite a short siege. And the French Governor killed himself.”
“Saved Napoleon the trouble, I suppose.”
“Does Napoleon kill his generals when they are beaten? Oh, let’s go up on the ramparts! Look, there are trees all along, just like a boulevard. Mademoiselle says the ramparts are three miles long. Are they, do you think? What is the business you have to do on the way? Are you going to see somebody?”
(To be continued.)