M. d'A——— presented himself, let out the story by degrees, and made his old friend acquainted with all my adventures down to the minutest detail. There is generally a touch of the ludicrous, even in the gravest affairs. The aged author of my being listened very quietly to the history of my almost incredibly bold escape. He was no doubt struck by the difference in character between my brother, "the good young man," and me, "the bad lot," and remembering his young days when he was a musketeer, he said, with a smile,
"Ah, the rascal! Well, my friend, I'll tell you what it is. If I had locked up my elder son, instead of my younger,—he would have stopped there for ever."
Peace was concluded, and all the conditions were granted, with one exception. My father steadfastly refused to see me;—not that he was angry with me, for his wrath had completely disappeared, but from quite another motive. He was an old soldier, and knew the rules of the service. He remarked that I had fired upon the King's soldiers, which might get me
