I say the apparent heedlessness of childhood. There are few things so deep as the subterfuge of a child. Whilst playing with the dog and pulling his ears, I was listening intently; not a word of the conversation was missed by me. They were talking mostly about the Emperor of the French, a close friend of my father's. He was just then at Biarritz, with the Empress; and the conversation, which included the names of De Morny and half a dozen others, would have been interesting, no doubt, to a diplomat. As I listened, I could tell that the Baron was sustaining the conversation, despite the fact that his thoughts were fixed elsewhere. I could tell that his thoughts were fixed on me; that he was watching me intently, yet furtively, and I knew in some mysterious manner that this man feared me. Feared me, a child of nine! I read it partly in his expression, partly in his furtive manner. He had seemed to dismiss me from his mind after our introduction; yet no man ever watched another with more furtive and brooding attention than the Baron Carl von Lichtenberg as he sat watching me. "Well," said the Baron, rising to go, "to-morrow, we will expect you in the afternoon. Till then, farewell." He saluted me as he left the room in the same forced, half-jocular manner with which he had returned my salute when I entered. Then he was gone, and I was playing again with Marengo on the hearthrug, and my father, cigar in mouth, had returned to the letters he had been engaged on when the Baron was announced. "Joubert," said I, as he tucked me up in my bed that night, "I wish we were home again. Joubert, I don't like the Marquis de Carabas." Joubert grunted. His opinion of the Marquis was the same as mine, evidently, but be was too much of a nursery despot to admit the fact. "Attention!" cried he, holding the candle-stick in one hand, and the finger and thumb of the other ready to extinguish the light. "Attention!" cried Joubert, as though he were addressing a company of the "Growlers." "One!" I nestled down in bed. "Two!" I shut my eyes. "Three!" he snuffed out the candle. That was the formula every night ere I marched off for dreamland with my knapsack on my back, a soldier to the last buttons on my gaiters. CHAPTER III "I HAVE BEEN HERE BEFORE." I was awakened by the sound of a band, and the tramp, tramp, tramp of a regiment of soldiers--solid, rhythmical and earthshaking as the footsteps of the Statue of the Commander. A regiment of infantry was passing in the street below. At Carlsruhe, at Mayence, I had heard the same sounds, and even my childish mind could recognise the perfect drill, the perfect discipline, the solidarity of these legions of the German army. The sun was shining in through the window which Joubert had just flung open; the band was playing, the soldiers marching, life was gay. "Attention!" cried Joubert, turning from the window. "One!" up I sat. "Two!" out went a leg. "Three!" I was standing on the floor saluting.