uthorities was more
closely drawn to this practice; and such meetings were for the future
always attended by several gendarmes, who narrowly scrutinized every
detail of the proceeding. With such perfect good faith, however, was the
secret maintained on both sides that discovery was almost impossible.
Not only was every etiquette of familiar intimacy strictly observed on
these occasions, but a most honorable secrecy by all concerned.

I was soon to be a witness of one of these adventures. Ysaffich, whose
duties required him to repair frequently to Strasburg, had been grossly
and, as I heard, wantonly outraged by a young captain of the Imperial
staff who, seeing his name on a slip of paper on a military table
d'hote, added with his pencil the words _Espion Musse_ after it.
Of course a meeting was at once arranged, and it was planned that
Challendrouze, the captain, and four of his brother officers were to
come over and visit the fortifications at Kehl, breakfasting with us,
and being our guests for the morning. Two only of Ysaffich's friends
were intrusted with the project, and invited to meet the others.

I cannot say that I ever felt what could be called a sincere friendship
for Ysaffich. He was one of those men who neither inspire such
attachments, nor need them in return. It was not that he was cold and
distant, repelling familiarity and refusing sympathy. It was exactly the
opposite. He revealed everything, even to the minutest particle of his
history, and told you of himself every emotion and every feeling that
moved him. He was frankness and candor itself; but it was a frankness
that spoke of utter indifference,--perfect recklessness as to your
judgment on him, and what opinion you should form of his character.
He told you of actions that reflected on his good faith, and uttered
sentiments that arraigned his sense of honor, not only without
hesitation, but with an air of assumed superiority to all the prejudices
that sway other men in similar cases. Even in the instance of the
approaching duel, he avowed that Challendrouze's offence was in the
manner, and not the matter, of the insult. His whole theory of life was
that every one was false, not only to others, but to himself; that no
man really felt love, patriotism, or religion in his heart, but that
he assumed one or more of these affections as a cloak to whatever vices
were most easily practised under such a disguise. It was a code to
stifle every generous feeli