The Forest of Argonne was Government property, and was preserved for the pleasure of the nobles attendant on the Court; but that did not hinder the young people of the environs from coming secretly with the keepers, to enjoy a little sport with the deer and the hares. There was one, who took part in these hunting parties, whom I knew well—Jean Baptiste Drouet, son of a postmaster at St. Menehould; also William, a friend of his; and one Billaut, who afterwards took the name of his native place, and called himself Billaut Varennes. All three were to acquire a certain celebrity in the middle of those revolutionary movements, still hidden in the future. Certain young noblemen, by very special favor received privileges of game denied to the outer world. Amongst the number of those young nobles, was M. de Dampierre, the Count de Mannes, and the Viscount de Malmy. The former was at this time a man of about forty-five years, the latter not over twenty. I select these out of the number, because they will play leading parts in the events I am about to describe. Even when I was quite a child, I learned the difference that subsisted in their characters. Every now and then, on hearing that a herd of wild boars had been seen in the forest, or that the snowstorm had driven out the wolves, a courier would arrive from Paris, and announce “The gentlemen of the Court.” Then it was that the fun took place. If it were summer, a tent was pitched, in which the gentlemen took their meals. If it were winter, they stopped at St. Menehould, and put up at the “Hotel de Metz,” making a rendezvous with the keepers at daybreak at a likely spot for wild boars or wolves. When there, the dogs were unleashed, and the sport commenced. When they went, away, they would leave twenty or twenty-five louis to be divided among the keepers. In general, these nobles of the Court were exceedingly polite towards the underlings. Twice the Prince de Condé and his son, the Duke D’Enghien came. On such occasions, being, as it were, high holiday, I would follow the sportsmen. Once when the Duke D’Enghien lost his way, I put him right, and he offered me a louis. I refused it. (I was only nine years old.) He looked at me with astonishment, and asked my name. “Réné Besson. I am the nephew of Father Descharmes,” I replied. “Good, my boy,” said he; “I won’t forget thee!” Two years afterwards the Prince came back. I was then eleven, and thought that he must have lost all remembrance of me. But he had not; and he came to me. “Ah, art thou not Réné Besson?” he said. “Nephew of Father Descharmes?” “Yes, Prince.” “Then here is something for thee,” said he, giving me a gun. “And this is for thy uncle,” he continued, handing me a folded paper. This paper contained the appointment of my uncle to the vacant post of chief huntsman. As for the gun, it was a beautiful weapon, and I have carefully kept it through my career, in memory of the unfortunate Prince who gave it.