‘Halloa, comrade!’ said I, as he came up to me.

‘Halloa!’ said he.

‘I am Colonel Gerard, of the Hussars,’ said I.  ’I have lain here wounded for a month, and I am now ready to rejoin my regiment at Pastores.’

‘I am Monsieur Vidal, of the commissariat,’ he answered, ’and I am myself upon my way to Pastores.  I should be glad to have your company, Colonel, for I hear that the mountains are far from safe.’

‘Alas,’ said I, ’I have no horse.  But if you will sell me yours, I will promise that an escort of hussars shall be sent back for you.’

He would not hear of it, and it was in vain that the landlord told him dreadful stories of the doings of El Cuchillo, and that I pointed out the duty which he owed to the army and to the country.  He would not even argue, but called loudly for a cup of wine.  I craftily asked him to dismount and to drink with me, but he must have seen something in my face, for he shook his head; and then, as I approached him with some thought of seizing him by the leg, he jerked his heels into his horse’s flanks, and was off in a cloud of dust.

My faith! it was enough to make a man mad to see this fellow riding away so gaily to join his beef-barrels, and his brandy-casks, and then to think of my five hundred beautiful hussars without their leader.  I was gazing after him with bitter thoughts in my mind, when who should touch me on the elbow but the little priest whom I have mentioned.

‘It is I who can help you,’ he said.  ‘I am myself travelling south.’

I put my arms about him and, as my ankle gave way at the same moment, we nearly rolled upon the ground together.

‘Get me to Pastores,’ I cried, ’and you shall have a rosary of golden beads.’  I had taken one from the Convent of Spiritu Santo.  It shows how necessary it is to take what you can when you are upon a campaign, and how the most unlikely things may become useful.

‘I will take you,’ he said, in very excellent French, ’not because I hope for any reward, but because it is my way always to do what I can to serve my fellow-man, and that is why I am so beloved wherever I go.’

With that he led me down the village to an old cow-house, in which we found a tumble-down sort of diligence, such as they used to run early in this century, between some of our remote villages.  There were three old mules, too, none of which were strong enough to carry a man, but together they might draw the coach.  The sight of their gaunt ribs and spavined legs gave me more delight than the whole two hundred and twenty hunters of the Emperor which I have seen in their stalls at Fontainebleau.  In ten minutes the owner was harnessing them into the coach, with no very good will, however, for he was in mortal dread of this terrible Cuchillo.  It was only by promising him riches in this world, while the priest threatened him with perdition in the next, that we at last got him safely upon the box with the reins between his