he inn of Arensdorf, where his men were to find their quarters for the
night.

Well, all this was no affair of mine, and I could not imagine what the
meaning of it might be. Rossel was still far off, but I determined to
ride on for a few hours and take my chance of some wayside barn in which
I could find shelter for Rataplan and myself. I had mounted my horse,
therefore, after tossing off a cup of wine, when young Duroc came
running out of the door and laid his hand upon my knee.

'Monsieur Gerard,' he panted, 'I beg of you not to abandon me like
this!'

'My good sir,' said I, 'if you would tell me what is the matter and what
you would wish me to do, I should be better able to tell you if I could
be of any assistance to you.'

'You can be of the very greatest,' he cried. 'Indeed, from all that I
have heard of you, Monsieur Gerard, you are the one man whom I should
wish to have by my side tonight.'

'You forget that I am riding to join my regiment.'

'You cannot, in any case, reach it tonight. Tomorrow will bring you to
Rossel. By staying with me you will confer the very greatest kindness
upon me, and you will aid me in a matter which concerns my own honour
and the honour of my family. I am compelled, however, to confess to you
that some personal danger may possibly be involved.'

It was a crafty thing for him to say. Of course, I sprang from
Rataplan's back and ordered the groom to lead him back into the stables.

'Come into the inn,' said I, 'and let me know exactly what it is that
you wish me to do.'

He led the way into a sitting-room, and fastened the door lest we should
be interrupted. He was a well-grown lad, and as he stood in the glare of
the lamp, with the light beating upon his earnest face and upon his
uniform of silver grey, which suited him to a marvel, I felt my heart
warm towards him. Without going so far as to say that he carried himself
as I had done at his age, there was at least similarity enough to make
me feel in sympathy with him.

'I can explain it all in a few words,' said he. 'If I have not already
satisfied your very natural curiosity, it is because the subject is so
painful a one to me that I can hardly bring myself to allude to it. I
cannot, however, ask for your assistance without explaining to you
exactly how the matter lies.

'You must know, then, that my father was the well-known banker,
Christophe Duroc, who was murdered by the people during the September
massacres. As you