His intention was to make for Philadelphia; but, through a chance occurrence which I need not relate, he learnt that I was in the South, and, rightly calculating that he would obtain both advice and help from me, he had set out to find me, alone, on foot, through unknown countries almost uninhabited and often full of danger of all kinds.  His clothes alone had suffered; his yellow face had not changed its tint, and he was no more surprised at his latest exploit than if he had merely covered the distance from Sainte-Severe to Gazeau Tower.

The only fresh habit that I noticed in him, was that he would turn round from time to time, and look behind him, as if he had felt inclined to call some one; then immediately after he would smile and sigh almost at the same instant.  I could not resist a desire to ask him the cause of his uneasiness.

“Alas!” he replied, “habit can’t get rid of; a poor dog! good dog!  Always saying, ‘Here Blaireau!  Blaireau, here!’”

“I understand,” I said, “Blaireau is dead, and you cannot accustom yourself to the idea that you will never see him at your heels again.”

“Dead!” he exclaimed, with an expression of horror.  “No, thank God!  Friend Patience, great friend!  Blaireau quite well off, but sad like his master; his master alone!”

“If Blaireau is with Patience,” said Arthur, “he is well off, as you say; for Patience wants nothing.  Patience will love him because he loves his master, and you are certain to see your good friend and faithful dog again.”

Marcasse turned his eyes upon the individual who seemed to be so well acquainted with his life; but, feeling sure that he had never seen him before, he acted as he was wont to do when he did not understand; he raised his hat and bowed respectfully.

On my immediate recommendation Marcasse was enrolled in my company and, a little while afterward, was made a sergeant.  The worthy man went through the whole campaign with me, and went through it bravely; and in 1782, when I rejoined Rochambeau’s army to fight under the French flag, he followed me, as he was anxious to share my lot until the end.  In the early days I looked upon him rather as an amusement than a companion; but his excellent conduct and calm fearlessness soon won for him the esteem of all, and I had reason to be proud of my protege.  Arthur also conceived a great friendship for him; and, when off duty, he accompanied us in all our walks, carrying the naturalist’s box and running the snakes through with his sword.

But when I tried to make him speak of my cousin, he by no means satisfied me.  Whether he did not understand how eager I felt to learn all the details of the life she was leading far away from me, or whether in this matter he was obeying one of those inviolable laws which governed his conscience, I could never obtain from him any clear solution of the doubts which harassed me.  Quite early he told me that there