My father then styled himself the comte de la Pailleterie; we shall soon relate the reason for his renouncing this name and title. It was under this name and title, therefore, that my father was introduced to the marshal. The name awoke a recollection alike in the mind and in the heart of the conqueror of Mahon. "Oh! oh!" he exclaimed, as he turned round in his armchair, "are you by any chance son of the marquis de la Pailleterie, one of my old friends, who was my second in a duel in which I had the misfortune to kill the prince of Lixen during the siege of Philipsbourg?" "Yes, monseigneur." "Then, m'sieur (this was the way the duc de Richelieu pronounced the word _monsieur_), you are the son of a brave gentleman and ought to have a fair hearing; relate your case to me." My father told what had happened just as I have given it. There was too close a resemblance between this affair and the one the duc de Richelieu had had with his cousin for the marshal not to be struck with it. "Oh! oh!" he said, "and you swear that was exactly what occurred, m'sieur?" "Upon my word of honour, monseigneur." "You must have reparation, then, and if you will to-day accept me as a second, I shall be delighted to render the same service to you that your father rendered me forty-six or forty-seven years ago." As may well be imagined, my father accepted the offer, which was thoroughly characteristic of Richelieu. The meeting took place in the very garden of the pavilion de Hanovre, and my father's adversary received a sword-cut across the shoulder. This event reunited the two old friends; the duc de Richelieu asked news of the father from his son, and learnt that the marquis de Pailleterie, after having lived in St. Domingo nearly twenty years, had returned to France, and now lived at Saint-Germain en Laye. An invitation was sent to the marquis de la Pailleterie to come and visit the duke at the pavillon de Hanovre. Of course my grandfather accepted willingly enough. The two heroes of the Regency held long conversations over their campaigns and their love-affairs. Then over dessert the talk fell on my father; and the marshal proposed to take the first opportunity that offered to place his old friend's son in the army. It was decreed that my father's military career should begin under less illustrious auspices. About this time my grandfather married again, and took his housekeeper to wife, Marie-Françoise Retou; he was then seventy-four years of age. This marriage caused an estrangement between father and son. The result of this estrangement was that the father tied up his money bags tighter than ever, and the son soon discovered that life in Paris without money is a sorry life. He then had an interview with the marquis, and told him he had made up his mind to a course of action. "What is that?" asked the marquis. "To enlist." "As what?" "As a private." "In what regiment?" "In the first regiment I come across."