"Captain," said he, "I ax your pardon, captain, an' maybe you'd be so condescendin' to my ignorance as to tell me, if it's plaisin' to yer honor, whether your honor is not a Frinchman, if it's plaisin' to you." This he asked, not thinking that, had it been as he suspected, not one word of his question, in all probability, would have been intelligible to the person he addressed. He was, however, understood, for the officer answered him in English, at the same time slackening his pace, and moving a little to the side of the pathway, as if to invite his interrogator to take his place beside him. "No; I am an Irishman," he answered. "I humbly thank your honor," said Peter, drawing nearer--for the affability and the nativity of the officer encouraged him--"but maybe your honor is in the _sarvice_ of the King of France?" "I serve the same king as you do," he answered, with a sorrowful significance which Peter did not comprehend at the time; and, interrogating in turn, he asked, "But what calls you forth at this hour of the day?" "The _day_, your honor!--the night, you mane." "It was always our way to turn night into day, and we keep to it still," remarked the soldier. "But, no matter, come up here to my house; I have a job for you, if you wish to earn some money easily. I live here." As he said this, he beckoned authoritatively to Peter, who followed almost mechanically at his heels, and they turned up a little lane near the old Roman Catholic chapel, at the end of which stood, in Peter's time, the ruins of a tall, stone-built house. Like every thing else in the town, it had suffered a metamorphosis. The stained and ragged walls were now erect, perfect, and covered with pebble-dash; window-panes glittered coldly in every window; the green hall-door had a bright brass knocker on it. Peter did not know whether to believe his previous or his present impressions; seeing is believing, and Peter could not dispute the reality of the scene. All the records of his memory seemed but the images of a tipsy dream. In a trance of astonishment and perplexity, therefore, he submitted himself to the chances of his adventure. The door opened, the officer beckoned with a melancholy air of authority to Peter, and entered. Our hero followed into a sort of hall, which was very dark, but he was guided by the steps of the soldier, and in silence they ascended the stairs. The moonlight, which shone in at the lobbies, showed an old, dark wainscoting, and a heavy, oak bannister. They passed by closed doors at different landing-places, but all was dark and silent as, indeed, became that late hour of the night.