another,
to the opposite impression. Assuredly nothing could be more complete
than the precautions he took against discovery. His lamp was concealed
in the hollow of a tree; the leaves that formed his bed he scattered and
strewed carelessly on every side; he erased even the foot-tracks on the
clay, and then gathering up his tattered cloak, prepared to set out.

'When are we to meet again, and where?' said I, grasping his hand.

He stopped suddenly, and passed his hand over his brow, as if
reflecting. 'You must see Caillon; Jacques will tell you all,' said he
solemnly. 'Good-bye. Do not follow me. I will not be tracked'; and with
a proud gesture of his hand he motioned me back.

Poor fellow! I saw that any attempt to reason with him would be in vain
at such a moment; and determining to seek out the _garde-chasse_, I
turned away slowly and sorrowfully.

'What have been my vicissitudes of fortune compared to his?' thought I.
'The proud colonel of a cavalry regiment, a beggar and an outcast!'
The great puzzle to me was, whether insanity had been the cause or the
consequence of his misfortunes. Caillon will, perhaps, be able to tell
me his story, said I to myself; and thus ruminating, I returned to where
I had picketed my horse three hours before. My old dragoon experiences
had taught me how to 'hobble' a horse, as it is called, by passing the
bridle beneath the counter before tying it, and so I found him just as I
left him.

The sun was now up, and I could see that a wide track led off through
the forest straight before me. I accordingly mounted, and struck into a
sharp canter. About an hour's riding brought me to a small clearing, in
the midst of which stood a neat and picturesque cottage, over the door
of which was painted the words 'Station de Chasse--No. 4.' In a little
garden in front, a man was working in his shirt sleeves, but his
military trousers at once proclaimed him the _garde_. He stopped as I
came up, and eyed me sharply.

'Is this the road to Belleville?' said I.

'You can go this way, but it takes you two miles of a round,' replied
he, coming closer, and scanning me keenly.

'You can tell me, perhaps, where Jacques Caillon, _garde-chaase_, 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