"Oh! pardon me!" said the young man; "I took monsieur for your lackey." This piece of impertinence was no sooner uttered than the ill-mannered musketeer was shot forth as from a catapult into the middle of the pit. This unexpected descent produced a great sensation. It was a matter of interest both to the falling body and to the people on whom he fell. In those days people had to stand in the pit, therefore there was no need for them to rise up; they turned to the box from which the musketeer had been hurled, and hooted loudly. At the same time my father, who naturally expected the usual sequel to such a proceeding, left the box to meet his enemy in the corridor. But instead he found a police constable, who touched him with an ivory-headed ebony baton and informed him that by order of the marshals of France he was attached to his person. It was the first time my father had encountered the arm of the law. Brought up in St. Domingo, where there was no marshals' tribunal, he was not versed in the practices of that institution. "Pardon me, monsieur," he said to the guard, "am I right in assuming that you are going to stick to me?" "I have that honour, monsieur," replied the guard. "Will you have the kindness to explain to me what that will mean?" "It means, monsieur, that from this moment until the Tribunal of Affairs of Honour shall have settled your case, I shall not leave your side." "You will not leave me?" "No, monsieur." "What! you will follow me?" "Yes, monsieur." "Everywhere I go?" "Everywhere." "Even to madame's house?" The guard bowed with exquisite politeness. "Even to madame's house," he replied. "Even to my own?" continued my father. "Even to your house." "Into my bedroom?" "Into your bedroom." "Oh! this is too much!" "It is even so, monsieur." And the guard bowed with the same politeness as at first. My father felt a strong inclination to disengage himself of the constable as he had of the musketeer; but the whole of the replies and injunctions we have above reported were made so courteously he had no reasonable excuse for taking offence. My father escorted the lady to her door, saluted her as respectfully as the constable had saluted him, and took home with him the representative of the marshals of France. This gentleman installed himself in his apartment, went out with him, came back with him, and followed him as faithfully as his shadow. Three days later my father was summoned to appear before the duc de Richelieu, who then lived at the famous pavilion de Hanovre. This was the name by which the Parisians had dubbed the mansion Richelieu had built at the corner of the boulevard and of the rue Choiseul (Louis-le-Grand), thereby hinting, and perhaps not without some show of reason, that the war with Hanover had supplied the requisite funds.