'Then I will, with your permission, ride so far with you,' said I. 'It
is very clear that the longer way will be the faster.'

So it proved, for this road led away from the army into a country which
was given over to Cossacks and marauders, and it was as bare as the
other was crowded. Duroc and I rode in front, with our six troopers
clattering in the rear. He was a good boy, this Duroc, with his head
full of the nonsense that they teach at St Cyr, knowing more about
Alexander and Pompey than how to mix a horse's fodder or care for a
horse's feet. Still, he was, as I have said, a good boy, unspoiled as
yet by the camp. It pleased me to hear him prattle away about his
sister Marie and about his mother in Amiens. Presently we found
ourselves at the village of Hayenau. Duroc rode up to the post-house and
asked to see the master.

'Can you tell me,' said he, 'whether the man who calls himself the Baron
Straubenthal lives in these parts?'

The postmaster shook his head, and we rode upon our way. I took no
notice of this, but when, at the next village, my comrade repeated the
same question, with the same result, I could not help asking him who
this Baron Straubenthal might be.

'He is a man,' said Duroc, with a sudden flush upon his boyish face, 'to
whom I have a very important message to convey.'

Well, this was not satisfactory, but there was something in my
companion's manner which told me that any further questioning would be
distasteful to him. I said nothing more, therefore, but Duroc would
still ask every peasant whom we met whether he could give him any news