“I am the Private Secretary of the Minister of the Interior.”

“Ah! it is you who are named Leopold Lehon.”

The young man cast down his eyes.

Charras continued,—­

“You come on the part of some one whom they call ’Minister of the Interior,’ M. de Morny, I believe.  I know M. de Morny.  A bald young man; he has played the game where people lose their hair; and now he is playing the game where people risk their heads.”

The conversation was painful.  The young man was deeply interested in the toe of his boot.

After a pause, however, he ventured to speak,—­

“M.  Charras, I am instructed to say that if you want money—­”

Charras interrupted him impetuously.

“Hold your tongue, sir! not another word.  I have served my country five-and-twenty years as an officer, under fire, at the peril of my life, always for honor, never for gain.  Keep your money for your own set!”

“But, sir—­”

“Silence!  Money which passes through your hands would soil mine.”

Another pause ensued, which the private secretary again broke,—­

“Colonel, you will be accompanied by two police agents who have special instructions, and I should inform you that you are ordered to travel with a false passport, and under the name of Vincent.”

“Good heavens!” said Charras; “this is really too much.  Who is it imagines that they will make me travel by order with a false passport, and under a false name?” And looking steadily at M. Leopold Lehon, “Know, sir, that my name is Charras and not Vincent, and that I belong to a family whose members have always borne the name of their father.”

They set out.

They journeyed by carriage as far as Creil, which is on the railway.

At Creil station the first person whom Charras saw was General Changarnier.

“Ah! it is you, General.”

The two proscripts embraced each other.  Such is exile.

“What the deuce are they doing with you?” asked the General.

“What they are probably doing with you.  These vagabonds are making me travel under the name of Vincent.”

“And me,” said Changarnier, “under the name of Leblanc.”

“In that case they ought at least to have called me Lerouge,” said Charras, with a burst of laughter.

In the meantime a group, kept at a distance by the police agents, had formed round them.  People had recognized them and saluted them.  A little child, whose mother could not hold him back, ran quickly to Charras and took his hand.

They got into the train apparently as free as other travellers.  Only they isolated them in empty compartments, and each was accompanied by two men, who sat one at the side and the other facing him, and who never took their eyes off him.  The keepers of General Changarnier were of ordinary strength and stature.  Those of Charras were almost giants.  Charras is exceedingly tall; they topped him by an entire head.  These men who were galley sergeants, had been carabineers; these spies had been heroes.