sure I had
not looked for."

"Are you so very sure," asked La Boulaye sardonically, as he took the
outstretched hand, "that it is a pleasure?"

"How could it be else, old friend? By St. Guillotine!" he added,
clapping the Deputy on the back, "you shall come to my room, and we will
broach a bottle of green seal."

In some measure of wonder, La Boulaye permitted himself to be led up the
crazy stairs to a most untidy room above, which evidently did duty as
the Captain's parlour. A heavy brass lamp, hanging from the ceiling, a
few untrustworthy chairs and a deal table, stained and unclean, were the
only articles of furniture. But in almost every corner there were untidy
heaps of garments Of all sorts and conditions; strewn about the floor
were other articles of apparel, a few weapons, a saddle, and three or
four boots; here an empty bottle, lying on its side, yonder a couple of
full ones by the hearth; an odd book or two and an infinity of playing
cards, cast there much as a sower scatters his seeds upon the ground.

There may be a hundred ways of apprehending the character of a man, but
none perhaps is more reliable than the appearance of his dwelling, and
no discerning person that stepped into Captain Tardivet's parlour could
long remain in doubt of its inhabitant's pursuits and habits.

When Dame Capoulade had withdrawn, after bringing them their wine and
casting a few logs upon the fire, La Boulaye turned his back to the
hearth and confronted his host.

"Why are you not with the army, Charlot?" he asked in a tone which made
the question sound like a demand.

"Have they not told you," rejoined the other airily, engrossed in
filling the glasses.

"I understand you were sent here to recover from a wound you received
three months ago at Jemappes, and to take charge of other invalided
soldiers. But seemingly, your invalids do not number more than a
half-dozen out of the fifty or sixty men that are with you. How is it
then, that you do not return with these to Dumouriez?"

"Because I can serve France better here," answered Charlot, "and at the
same time enrich myself and my followers."

"In short," returned La Boulaye coldly, "because you have degenerated
from a soldier into a brigand."

Charlot looked up, and for just a second his glance was not without
uneasiness. Then he laughed. He unbuckled his sword and tossed it into a
corner, throwing his hat after it.

"It was ever your way to take extreme views, Caron