I had been engaged in the sport for about an hour, wandering along through the beautiful meadows, and had done tolerably well, when I saw a gentleman, of the middle age, walk slowly across from the other side, and pause upon a little wooden bridge, observing my proceedings. He was a tall, handsome man, about fifty, but thin and pale, dressed in a sort of military blue coat, richly braided, but not very new; and his air was exceedingly gentlemanly and prepossessing, though his riches were evidently of Nature’s giving, not the world’s. After watching me a few minutes, he came up with easy grace, and asked, with a strong foreign accent, “If I had had good sport.” I replied that it had been pretty well, adding a French proverb of no particular significance. “Ha!” he said, “have I the pleasure of speaking to a countryman?” I replied in the affirmative; and he soon began to ask all sorts of questions, in that courteous manner which renders inquisitiveness not impertinent in a Frenchman. I told him I had quitted France very early, and recollected but little of my native land; to which he replied, that was a “_malheur_,” asking the year of my emigration. I told him, and he replied, with a smile, that it was the same in which he had left France; but added, that he had returned there since, and fought in La Vendee. He then asked me if I knew many of my countrymen. I replied in the negative, saying with a smile—for the opportunity seemed too good to be missed—that there were only two, whom I had known so well in my boyhood as to make me very anxious to hear of them again. “May I be permitted to ask their names?” he said, quietly. “I am acquainted with several, though, indeed, not very many; for my means are too limited to allow of my mingling much in society.” I at once named Madame de Salins and her daughter. My new acquaintance paused and mused, as if he were trying to recollect some circumstance, such as where he had heard of them, and I began to entertain some hopes of information. “Perhaps,” he said, at length, “I may be able to assist in your search in some degree, although I am not sure. May I ask how old you were when you quitted France?” and his eye ran over my person, which perhaps showed signs of age beyond what my years warranted. “Between twelve and thirteen,” I replied. “Ay! and you have remembered them so long,” he said, in a tone of interest. “Well, I will do my best to give you news of them. But I know not where to send it to you, if I should prove fortunate enough to be able to do so.”