Such pastimes naturally led them beyond the city walls, and on two occasions Rousseau found the gates closed on his return.

His master when he presented himself in the morning gave him such greeting as we may imagine, and held out things beyond imagining as penalty for a second sin in this kind.

The occasion came, as, alas, it nearly always does.

"Half a league from the town," says Rousseau, "I hear the retreat sounded, and redouble my pace; I hear the drum beat, and run at the top of my speed: I arrive out of breath, bathed in sweat; my heart beats violently, I see from a distance the soldiers at their post, and call out with choking voice.

It was too late.