to cease; if he were at liberty to appear
once more in the world----'

'What if there was no persecution, sir?' broke in Jacques. 'What if the
whole were a mere dream or fancy? He is neither tracked nor followed. It
is not such harmless game the bloodhounds of the Rue des Victoires scent
out.'

'Was it, then, some mere delusion drove him from the service?' said I,
surprised.

'I never said so much as that,' replied Jacques. 'Colonel Mahon has foul
injury to complain of, but his present sufferings are the inflictions of
his own terror. He fancies that the whole power of France is at war with
him; that every engine of the Government is directed against him; with
a restless fear he flies from village to village, fancying pursuit
everywhere. Even kindness now he is distrustful of; and the chances are,
that he will quit the forest this very day, merely because he met you
there.'

From being of all men the most open-hearted and frank, he had become the
most suspicious; he trusted nothing nor any one; and if for a moment
a burst of his old generous nature would return, it was sure to be
followed by some excess of distrust that made him miserable almost
to despair. Jacques was obliged to fall in with this humour, and only
assist him by stealth and by stratagem; he was even compelled to chime
in with all his notions about pursuit and danger, to suggest frequent
change of place, and endless precautions against discovery.

'Were I for once to treat him frankly, and ask him to share my home with
me,' said Jacques, 'I should never see him more.'

'What could have poisoned so noble a nature?' cried I. 'When I saw him
last he was the very type of generous confidence.'

'Where was that, and when?' asked Jacques.

'It was at Nancy, on the march for the Rhine.'

'His calamities had not fallen on him then. He was a proud man in those
days, but it was a pride that well became him. He was the colonel of a
great regiment, and for bravery had a reputation second to none.'

'He was married, I think?'

'No, sir; he was never married.'

As Jacques said this, he arose, and moved slowly away, as though he
would not be questioned further. His mind, too, seemed full of its own
crowding memories, for he looked completely absorbed in thought, and
never noticed my presence for a considerable time. At last he appeared
to have decided some doubtful issue within himself, and said--

'Come, sir, let us stroll into the shade of the wood, an