Two gendarmes were called up to guard him; soldiers came up to stare with savage scowls--he was a spy undoubtedly; but cigarettes were offered by the spy, and things began to look less cloudy. Then up came General Bourbaki, and fresh questions were put and answered; then a mounted messenger was sent to Metz to find out if the prisoner’s statements were correct. On his return with a satisfactory account, the prisoner was told to mount and ride with escort to the head-quarters of the Commander-in-Chief, Marshal Bazaine. As he rode soldiers jeered and prophesied a speedy death in a ditch, which made him feel ill at ease. A ride of a mile brought him to a pretty château, where he was received with courtesy and kindness. At a long common deal table in a wooden pavilion in the garden sat the Marshal and some twenty officers of the staff. Dispatches were being written, signed, and sent off by mounted messengers. In the corner was an electric telegraph, ticking off reports from distant points. When the conference broke up, Marshal Bazaine motioned the suspect to a seat, and questioned him, made him show on a map where he had been riding, found he understood no German and was a fool at maps (perhaps a little stupidity was put on), then he left him to his secretary. The latter said, with a sly glance: “We have so many spies that we are bound to be careful, but the arrest in this case is a stupid thing (_une bêtise_). I will give you a _laissez-passer_ for the day, monsieur.” So he went off, relieved at not being shot for a spy, but somewhat mortified. There was hard fighting going on in the country round Metz. Our countryman managed to get attached to an ambulance, and went on to a battle-field at night.