who could act as guard. The servant, of course, was my orderly,
old Johann; I gave him my double hunting gun to carry, with a big
charge of boar shot in one barrel and an ounce ball in the other.

In addition, I armed myself with a big bottle of cognac. I thought
that if I could shoot my prisoner often enough with that, he would
give me no trouble.

As it happened, he didn't, and none of my precautions--except
the cognac--were needed. The man didn't look like a lunatic to
me. He was a rather stout gentleman, of past middle age, with a
ruddy complexion and an intelligent face. The only unusual thing
about him was his hat, which was a peculiar contraption, looking
like a pot. I put him in the carriage, and then offered him a
drink out of my bottle, taking one about half as big myself. He
smacked his lips over it and said, "Well, that's real brandy;
whatever we think of their detestable politics, we can't
criticize the French for their liquor." Then, he said, "I'm glad
they're sending me in the custody of a military gentleman,
instead of a confounded gendarme. Tell me the truth, lieutenant;
am I under arrest for anything?"

"Why," I said, "Captain Hartenstein should have told you about
that. All I know is that I have orders to take you to the Ministry
of Police, in Berlin, and not to let you escape on the way. These
orders I will carry out; I hope you don't hold that against me."

He assured me that he did not, and we had another drink on
it--I made sure, again, that he got twice as much as I did--and
then the coachman cracked his whip and we were off for Berlin.