respectable father of a family, and save for his brown leggings there was nothing to indicate a life among the mountains.  His surroundings, too, corresponded with himself, and beside his snuff-box upon the table there stood a great brown book, which looked like a commercial ledger.  Many other books were ranged along a plank between two powder-casks, and there was a great litter of papers, some of which had verses scribbled upon them.  All this I took in while he, leaning indolently back in his chair, was listening to the report of his lieutenant.  Having heard everything, he ordered the cripple to be carried out again, and I was left with my three guards, waiting to hear my fate.  He took up his pen, and tapping his forehead with the handle of it, he pursed up his lips and looked out of the corner of his eyes at the roof of the grotto.

‘I suppose,’ said he at last, speaking very excellent French, ’that you are not able to suggest a rhyme for the word Covilha.’

I answered him that my acquaintance with the Spanish language was so limited that I was unable to oblige him.

‘It is a rich language,’ said he, ’but less prolific in rhymes than either the German or the English.  That is why our best work has been done in blank verse, a form of composition which is capable of reaching great heights.  But I fear that such subjects are somewhat outside the range of a hussar.’

I was about to answer that if they were good enough for a guerilla, they could not be too much for the light cavalry, but he was already stooping over his half-finished verse.  Presently he threw down the pen with an exclamation of satisfaction, and declaimed a few lines which drew a cry of approval from the three ruffians who held me.  His broad face blushed like a young girl who receives her first compliment.

‘The critics are in my favour, 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?’