“So The Count asked you if you were rich?” said a pretty little boy of about my own age, as he came up to where I was standing; “don’t mind what he says, he is a little cracked. Did what he said distress you? Don’t cry, there is nothing to cry about; The Count doesn’t know what he says half his time. He always goes off by himself in that grand way, when we first come out to play; but when once we have settled upon a game, and are going to begin, he forgets his straps and other toggery, and plays harder than any of us. Will you play at Prisoner’s Base?”

“I don’t know the game,” I answered.

“No?” said he, in a surprised tone. “Well, I will teach it to you; it’s not difficult, you shall be on my side.”

I did not dare to refuse the offer which was so kindly made, and yet I scarcely dared to accept it. My new friend, however, who was full of spirit and fun, cut short my excuses, and, taking me by the hand, led me off. As we walked across the playground he informed me that his name was Marc Sublaine, and that his father was the president of the local tribunal.

In enlisting me on his side he had made but a sorry recruit; and in the beginning his comrades did not scruple to tell him so. I utterly ignored all the rules of the game: I rushed blindly about, without the least method. I allowed myself to be made prisoner like a goose; and, once prisoner, I began to think of something else, instead of trying to escape, and holding out my hand to my comrades to help me. Once, when I was near making a prisoner—just on the point, in fact, of catching him—the boy, who felt he would be caught directly, turned and ran after me; when I, stupidly afrai............