r, it appears,' said he; 'we amuse ourselves
in our long evenings by singing our own ballads, you understand. I have
some little facility in that direction, and I do not at all despair of
seeing some of my poor efforts in print before long, and with "Madrid"
upon the title-page, too. But we must get back to business. May I ask
what your name is?'

'Etienne Gerard.'

'Rank?'

'Colonel.'

'Corps?'

'The Third Hussars of Conflans.'

'You are young for a colonel.'

'My career has been an eventful one.'

'Tut, that makes it the sadder,' said he, with his bland smile.

I made no answer to that, but I tried to show him by my bearing that I
was ready for the worst which could befall me.

'By the way, I rather fancy that we have had some of your corps here,'
said he, turning over the pages of his big brown register. 'We
endeavour to keep a record of our operations. Here is a heading under
June 24th. Have you not a young officer named Soubiron, a tall, slight
youth with light hair?'

'Certainly.'

'I see that we buried him upon that date.'

'Poor lad!' I cried. 'And how did he die?'

'We buried him.'

'But before you buried him?'

'You misunderstand me, Colonel. He was not dead before we buried him.'

'You buried him alive!'

For a moment I was too stunned to act. Then I hurled myself upon the
man, as he sat with that placid smile of his upon his lips, and I would
have torn his throat out had the three wretches not dragged me away from
him. Again and again I made for him, panting and cursing, shaking off
this man and that, straining and wrenching, but never quite free. At
last, with my jacket torn nearly off my back and blood dripping from my
wrists, I was hauled backwards in the bight of a rope and cords passed
round my ankles and my arms.

'You sleek hound!' I cried. 'If ever I have you at my sword's point, I
will teach you to maltreat one of my lads. You will find, you
bloodthirsty beast, that my Emperor has long arms, and though you lie
here like a rat in its hole, the time will come when he will tear you
out of it, and you and your vermin will perish together.'

My faith, I have a rough side to my tongue, and there was not a hard
word that I had learned in fourteen campaigns which I did not let fly at
him; but he sat with the handle of his pen tapping against his forehead
and his eyes squinting up at the roof as if he had conceived the idea of
some new stanza. It was this occupation of his which s