I tell you that
I myself do not even know his name.'

The look of contempt these words brought to my companion's face could
not, it seemed, be either repressed or concealed, and although my
conscience acquitted me of deserving such a glance, I own that I felt
insulted by it.

'You are pleased to disbelieve me, Master Caillon,' said I sternly,
'which makes me suppose that you are neither so old nor so good a
soldier as I fancied; at least in the corps I had the honour to serve
with, the word of an officer was respected like an "order of the day."'

He stood erect, as if on parade, under this rebuke, but made no answer.

'Had you simply expressed surprise at what I said, I would have given
you the explanation frankly and freely; as it is, I shall content myself
with repeating what I said--I do not even know his name.'

The same imperturbable look and the same silence met me as before.

'Now, sir, I ask you how this gentleman is called, whom I, alone of all
France, am ignorant of?'

'Monsieur Fouche,' said he calmly.

'What! Fouche, the Minister of Police?'

This time, at least, my agitated looks seemed to move him, for he
replied quietly--

'The same, sir. The horse has the brand of the "Ministere" on his
haunch.'

'And where is the Ministere?' cried I eagerly.

'In the Rue des Victoires, monsieur.'

'But he lives in the country, in a chateau near this very forest.'

'Where does he not live, monsieur? At Versailles, at St. Germain, in the
Luxembourg, in the Marais, at Neuilly, the Batignolles. I have carried
despatches to him in every quarter of Paris. Ah, monsieur, what secret
are you in possession of, that it was worth while to lay so subtle a
trap to catch you?'

This question, put in all the frank abruptness of a sudden thought,
immediately revealed everything before me.

'Is it not as I have said?' resumed he, still looking at my agitated
face; 'is it not as I have said---monsieur is in the web of the
_mouchards?_'

'Good heavens! is such baseness possible?' was all that I could utter.

'I'll wager a piece of five francs I can read the mystery,' said
Jacques. 'You served on Moreau's staff, or with Pichegru in Holland;
you either have some of the general's letters, or you can be supposed to
have them, at all events; you remember many private conversations held
with him on politics; you can charge your memory with a number of strong
facts; and you can, if needed, draw up a memoir of all your int