"What home, citizen?" asked Charles in astonishment, looking for the first time at the fine noble countenance which was for a moment veiled in sadness. "Come," said the latter, "you are from Besançon, or at least from the Franche-Comté. Can our national accent be disguised? I, too, come from the Franche-Comté, and I am proud of it." Charles pondered a moment; this recognition of the accent awakened a college memory in his mind. "Well," asked the young man, "do you wish to be unknown?" "No, citizen; I was only thinking that Theophrastus, who was first called Tyrtamus, and whom the Athenians, as his name indicates, had surnamed the 'fine speaker,' was recognized as a Lesbian by his accent, after fifty years sojourn at Athens, by a dealer in herbs." "You are learned, sir," replied the young man, smiling. "That is a luxury in these days." "No, for I am on my way to General Pichegru, who is very learned himself. I hope to become his secretary, thanks to my letter of recommendation. And you, citizen, do you belong to the army?" "Not exactly." "Then," said Charles, "you are attached to the administration?" "Attached--that's the word. Only I am not attached to the administration; I am attached to myself." "But," said Charles, lowering his voice, "you called me monsieur out loud. Are you not afraid that you will lose your place?" "Oh! I say, captain," laughed the young man, "here is a young citizen who is afraid that I shall lose my place for calling him monsieur! Do you know any one who wants my place? I will do him the honor of giving it to him instantly." The captain replied only by a sad smile and a shrug; but Charles thought he heard him murmur, "Poor devil!" "Tell me," continued the young man in the white cloak, "since you are from Besançon--for you do come from there, do you not?" "I do not deny it," replied Charles. "You must know a family there named Sainte-Hermine." "Yes, a widowed mother whose husband was guillotined eight months ago." "That is the one," said the young man, lifting his eyes to heaven. "And three sons." "Three sons! yes, there are still three," murmured the other with a sigh. "The eldest, the Comte de Sainte-Hermine, who emigrated, and two others younger than he; one is about twenty and the other is not more than fourteen or fifteen." "Thank you; how long is it since you left Besançon?" "About eight days." "Then you can give me some recent news about this family?" "Yes, but it is sad news." "Tell it nevertheless." "The night before I left, my father and I attended the funeral of the countess." "Ah!" exclaimed the young man, as if he had received an unexpected blow; "then the countess is dead?" "Yes." "So much the better," said he with a sigh, as he raised his eyes wet with tears to heaven. "What do you mean?" exclaimed Charles. "Yes," replied the young man, "it is better that she should die of sickness than through grief when she learns that her son has been shot."