The newcomer was a simple farm-hand of Remilly, whom Maurice had known when a child, at the time when he went to spend his holidays at uncle Fouchard's. Having been taken at the conscription, Prosper had already spent three years in Algeria when the war broke out, and, with his long thin face and his supple sturdy limbs, with which he was wonderfully adroit, he looked to great advantage in his sky-blue jacket, his full red trousers with blue stripes, and his ample red woollen sash. 'What! Monsieur Maurice,' he said. 'Here's an unexpected meeting!' He did not hurry to join his friend, however, but forthwith took the steaming horses to the stable, eyeing his own mount with quite a paternal air. It was love of horseflesh, dating from childhood, from the time when he had taken the teams to the fields, that had induced him to enter the cavalry service. 'We've just come from Monthois, ten leagues at a stretch,' he said to Maurice, when he returned, 'and Zephyr needs a feed.' Zephyr was his horse. For his own part he refused to eat anything, and would only accept some coffee. He had to wait for his officer, who, on his side, had to wait for the Emperor. They might be five minutes there, or two hours, there was no telling, so his officer had told him to bait the horses. Then as Maurice, whose curiosity was roused, questioned him as to why the officer wanted to see the Emperor, he replied; 'I don't know--some commission of course--some papers to hand in.' Rochas was eyeing Prosper with a softened glance, the sight of the chasseur uniform having revived his own recollections of Algeria. 'And where were you, out there, my lad?' he asked. 'At Medeah, sir.'