He then led me in, asked after the wounds I had received, spoke to me of the different events of the late battle, and mentioned the death of the Prince de Condé with so much kindly and noble feeling, that, had not my mind been altogether prepossessed in his favour before, those words would have attached me to him for ever. He then gave me several cautions with regard to my conduct during my stay in the Catholic camp. "Neither my father nor myself," he said, "Would wish you to abandon your opinions except upon full conviction; but, at the same time, it will be much better for you, as far as possible, to restrain any expression of those opinions, for there are dangerous men around us all, and you might place yourself in situations from which it might be difficult, if not impossible, to extricate you." I promised to follow his counsel; and then, judging from his conversation that he must have more experience in the ways of courts and camps than I had imagined, I asked him if this was the first campaign in which he had served. "Oh, no!" he replied; "I am older than I appear, Monsieur de Cerons." And I found that such indeed was the case, but that in him there was the extraordinary combination of high powers of mind and considerable experience, with unpresuming modesty, and all the frank, quick emotions of boyhood. There was something fine and noble, too, in the demeanour of the father to the son and the son to the father. The duke felt all the eager apprehensions and tender anxiety for the young prince that he had felt when he was a boy, flew always to his succour in the battle-field, and seemed to feel unwilling to yield the affectionate privilege of guiding, guarding, and defending his boy; but, at the same time, he was aware and proud of his son's high qualities, had every confidence in his mind and judgment, and treated his opinions with that respect which ensured the respect of others. The son, on his part, though well aware of his own capability of directing and defending himself, ever showed the deepest gratitude for his father's tenderness, and reverence for his authority and advice. Not long after our conversation had begun, there were some steps heard in the hall, and the voice of the Duke of Montpensier was heard exclaiming, "Where are you, Francis? Where is Monsieur de Cerons?" In another moment the duke entered the room, before his son could go to meet him. He was accompanied by Martigue, who entered the little room with him, and by several others, who remained behind in the supper-room. The moment he entered, Martigue seized me roughly by the collar on both sides of my buff coat, and gave me a little but friendly shake, exclaiming, "You young scoundrel, you owe me double ransom, I swear." And, as he spoke, the old soldier looked me over from head to foot with the eye of a connoisseur, as if calculating what portion of strength there was in my limbs.