They seemed to be innocent and well meaning peasants; they said that they had orders to let no one pass, and they were surprised that I had got so far without being stopped.

I told them that they were quite right to obey their _consigne_, and that I would go back the way I had come.

One of them suggested that I might be a spy, but he accepted my assurance that I was not.

Another proposed to keep me as a captive until some officer passed; but I told them that this was contrary to all law, human and divine, civil and military.
"Well, gentlemen," I at last said, "I will now wish you good day, my mother will be anxious about me if I do not return, otherwise I should have been happy to remain in such good society;" and with this speech I turned back and went towards Asnieres; they did not follow me, but remained with their mouths open, utterly unable to grasp the idea why an Englishman should be taking a walk in the neighbourhood of Paris, and why he should have an aged mother anxiously awaiting his return in the city.

(N.B .-- If you want to inspire a Frenchman with a sort of sentimental respect, always talk of your mother; the same effect is produced on a German by an allusion to your bride.) At the bridge of Neuilly the guard had been changed, and I had a lengthy discussion whether I ought to be imprisoned or allowed to pass.