' thought I. 'Courage, my brave
boy! You were not made a Colonel of Hussars at twenty-eight because you
could dance a cotillon. You are a picked man, Etienne; a man who has
come through more than two hundred affairs, and this little one is
surely not going to be the last.' I began eagerly to glance about for
some chance of escape, and as I did so I saw something which filled me
with great astonishment.

I have already told you that a large fire was burning in the centre of
the glade. What with its glare, and what with the moonlight, everything
was as clear as possible. On the other side of the glade there was a
single tall fir-tree which attracted my attention because its trunk and
lower branches were discoloured, as if a large fire had recently been
lit underneath it. A clump of bushes grew in front of it which concealed
the base. Well, as I looked towards it, I was surprised to see
projecting above the bush, and fastened apparently to the tree, a pair
of fine riding boots with the toes upwards. At first I thought that they
were tied there, but as I looked harder I saw that they were secured by
a great nail which was hammered through the foot of each. And then,
suddenly, with a thrill of horror, I understood that these were not
empty boots; and moving my head a little to the right, I was able to see
who it was that had been fastened there, and why a fire had been lit
beneath the tree. It is not pleasant to speak or to think of horrors, my
friends, and I do not wish to give any of you bad dreams tonight--but I
cannot take you among the Spanish guerillas without showing you what
kind of men they were, and the sort of warfare that they waged. I will
only say that I understood why Monsieur Vidal's horse was waiting
masterless in the grove, and that I hoped he had met this terrible fate
with sprightliness and courage, as a good Frenchman ought.

It was not a very cheering sight for me, as you can imagine. When I had
been with their chief in the grotto I had been so carried away by my
rage at the cruel death of young Soubiron, who was one of the brightest
lads who ever threw his thigh over a charger, that I had never given a
thought to my own position. Perhaps it would have been more politic had
I spoken the ruffian fair, but it was too late now. The cork was drawn
and I must drain the wine. Besides, if the harmless commissariat man
were put to such a death, what hope was there for me, who had snapped
the spine of their lie