“Cousin,” said I, “henceforth pursue your tale without interruption.  There was a time when, in my folly, I presumed to criticise your methods.  I apologise.”

“On leaving the tailor’s shop I was accosted by a wretched creature who had seen me alight from the chaise in His Majesty’s uniform, and had followed, but did not venture to introduce himself until I emerged in a less compromising garb.  He was, it appeared, a British agent—­and a traitor to his own country—­and I gathered that a part of his dirty trade lay in assisting British prisoners to break their parole.  He assumed that I travelled on parole, and insinuated that I might have occasion to break it:  and, with all the will in the world to crack his head, I let the mistake and suspicion pass.  For a napoleon I received the address of a Parisian agent in the Rue Carcassonne, whose name I will confide in you, in case you should ever require his services.  For truly, although I had some difficulty in persuading him that I broke no faith in seeking to escape from France (a point in which self-respect obliged me to insist, though he himself treated it with irritating nonchalance), this agent proved a zealous fellow, and served me well.

“He fell in, too, with my proposals, complimented me on their boldness, and advanced me money to further them.  I took a lodging au troisieme in the Faubourg St. Honore, and for a fortnight walked Paris without an attempt at concealment, frequenting the cafes, and spending my evenings at the theatre.  Once or twice I encountered Souham himself, with whom I had parted on the friendliest terms:  but he did not choose to recognise me—­perhaps he had his good-natured suspicions.  I lived unchallenged, though walking all the while on a razor’s edge.  I had reckoned on two fair chances in my favour.  There was a chance that the Governor of Bayonne, on finding himself tricked, would for his own security suppress Marmont’s letter, trusting that the affair would pass without inquiry:  and there was the further chance that Marmont himself, on receipt of my note, would remember the magnanimity which (to do him justice) he usually has at call, and give orders whistling off the pursuit.  At any rate, I spent a fortnight in Paris; and no man questioned or troubled me.

“On the same morning that I paid my second weekly bill the agent called on me with a capital plan of escape, which (being a facetious fellow) he announced as follows:  ‘I wish you good morning, Mr. Buck,’ he began.  ‘Sir,’ I answered, ’I have no claim to such a designation.  My pleasures in Paris have been entirely respectable, and I dislike familiarity.’  ‘Mr. Jonathan Buck, I should have said.’  ‘Sir,’ I corrected him, ’if your clients are so numerous that you confuse their names, I must remind you that mine is McNeill.’  ‘Pardon me,’ he replied, ’you have this morning inherited that of an American citizen who died suddenly last evening in an obscure lodging near the Barriere de Pantin; and, in addition, a passport now waiting for him at the Foreign Office, if you have the courage to claim it.  You resemble the deceased sufficiently to answer a passport’s description:  and if you secure it, I advise a speedy departure, with Nantes for your objective.’  Accordingly, that same evening I left Paris for the Loire.”