ore them, as if to
whet their new appetite for enjoyment by the aspect of his misery, that
an indignant anger took possession of me, and I drew myself up to my
full height, and stared at them calm and steadily.

'So, then!' cried a deep soldierlike voice from the far end of the
table, which I at once recognised as the general-in-chief s--'so, then,
gentlemen, we have now the honour of seeing amongst us the hero of the
Rhine! This is the distinguished individual by whose prowess the passage
of the river was effected, and the Swabian infantry cut off in their
retreat! Is it not true, sir?' said he, addressing me with a savage
scowl.

'I have had my share in the achievement,' said I, with the cool air of
defiance.

'_Parbleu!_ you are modest, sir. So had every drummer-boy that beat his
tattoo! But yours was the part of a great leader, if I err not?'

I made no answer, but stood firm and unmoved.

'How do you call the island which you have immortalised by your valour?'

'The Fels Insel, sir.'

[Illustration: 190]

'Gentlemen, let us drink to the hero of the Fels Insel,' said he,
holding up his glass for the servant to fill it. 'A bumper--a full, a
flowing bumper! And let him also pledge a toast in which his interest
must be so brief. Give him a glass, Contard.'

The order was obeyed in a second; and I, summoning up all my courage to
seem as easy and indifferent as they were, lifted the glass to my lips,
and drained it off.

'Another glass now to the health of this fair lady, through whose
intercession we owe the pleasure of your company,' said the general.

'Willingly,' said I; 'and may one so beautiful seldom find herself in a
society so unworthy of her!'

A perfect roar of laughter succeeded the insolence of this speech; amid
which I was half pushed, half dragged, up to the end of the table where
the general sat.

'How so, _coquin_; do you dare to insult a French general at the head of
his own staff!'

'If I did, sir, it were quite as brave as to mock a poor criminal on his
way to his execution!'

'That is the boy!--I know him now!--the very same lad!' cried the lady,
as, stooping behind Berthier's chair, she stretched out her hand towards
me. 'Come here; are you not Colonel Mahon's godson?'

I looked her full in the face; and whether her own thoughts gave the
impulse, or that something in my stare suggested it, she blushed till
her cheeks grew crimson.

'Poor Charles was so fond of him!' whispered