he officer said, "it is clear to me that you are a lad of
spirit, and that you have done your best to prepare yourself for your
profession as a soldier by studying military history, and I think it
hard that, as the son of an officer who died in battle for France,
France should have done nothing for you. I have some little influence
myself. What is the name of this cabaret that Sergeant MacIntosh keeps?"

"The Scottish Soldier, sir. It is near the gate of the barracks of St.
Denis."

"Do not go out tomorrow afternoon. I will have a talk with him, and
maybe I can be of some assistance to you."

So saying, he touched his horse's flank with his heel and rode on, while
the boys continued their play. The next afternoon the lad remained at
home, to the surprise of the sergeant.

"What keeps you in today, Hector? It is rare indeed that you are indoors
in the afternoon."

"An officer came along while we were playing," the lad said, "and
asked me some questions. I told him who I was. He said that he had some
influence, and might be able to assist me."

"What sort of assistance?" the sergeant grumbled. "He must have
influence indeed if he can get you a pension."

"I don't think it was that," the boy said. "I said that I should like to
enlist as a volunteer."

The sergeant laughed. "Well, they do take volunteers as young as you
are, Hector, but they must be cadets of a noble family. You will have to
wait another couple of years before they will enlist you, much less take
you as a volunteer."

There were a good many Scottish soldiers sitting in the room, when an
officer rode up to the door and dismounted.

"It is a general officer," one of the men said, looking out of the
window, and as the door opened and the officer entered, all stood up and
saluted.

"Sit down, men," he said. "I am not here to disturb you, but to have a
talk with Sergeant MacIntosh. Have you a room, sergeant, where we can
speak privately?"

"Yes, general," the sergeant said, saluting again, and led the way into
a little room generally devoted to the use of noncommissioned officers.
The officer caught Hector's eye, and beckoned to him to follow.

"Do you know me, sergeant?"

"Yes, general, you are Viscount Turenne."

Hector gave an involuntary exclamation of horror at the thought of the
freedom with which he had the day before discoursed with this famous
commander. Military officers at that time did not wear any set uniforms,
and indeed there w