more than he had bargained
for.

The horses began to lift and were soon winding in and out of the narrow
mountain pass. The chill of the overhanging snows fell upon them.

"It wouldn't have hurt you to accept the blanket," said Maurice to
Fitzgerald.

"Curse it! I want nothing but two minutes freedom. It would be warm
enough then."

"No confidences, gentlemen," warned the Colonel; "I understand English
tolerably well."

"Go to the devil, then, if you do!" said Fitzgerald discourteously.

"When the time comes," tranquilly. "Of the two I like your friend
the better. To be resigned to the inevitable is a sign of good mental
balance."

"I am not used to words," replied the Englishman.

"You are used to orders. I am simply obeying mine. If I took you off
your guard it was because I had to, and not because I liked that method
best. Look alive, men; it's down hill from now on."

A quarter of an hour later the troop arrived at the duchy's frontier
post. There was no sleep here. The Colonel flung himself from his horse
and exercised his legs.

"Sergeant," he said, "how far behind the others?"

"They passed two hours ago, Excellency. And all is well?" deferentially.

"All is indeed well," with a gesture toward the prisoners.

"I've a flask of brandy in my hip pocket," said Maurice. "Will you help
me to a nip, Colonel?"

"Pardon me, gentlemen; I had forgotten that your hands were still in
cords. Corporal," to a trooper, "relieve their hands."

The prisoners rubbed their wrists and hands, which were numb and cold.
Maurice produced his flask.

"I was bringing it along for your sprained ankle," he said, as he
extended the flask to Fitzgerald, who drank a third of it. "I'd offer
you some, Colonel, only it would be like heaping coals of fire on your
head; and, besides, I want it all myself." He returned the emptied flask
to his pocket, feeling a moderate warmth inside.

"Drink away, my son," said the Colonel, climbing into the saddle;
"there'll be plenty for me for this night's work. Forward!"

The troop took up the march again, through a splendid forest kept clear
of dead wood by the peasants. It abounded with game. The shrill cry of
the pheasants, the rustle of the partridges in the underbrush, the bark
of the fox, all rose to the ears of the trespassers. The smell of warm
earth permeated the air, and the sky was merging from silver into gold.

When Napoleon humiliated Austria for the second time, one of his