‘Help, comrades, help!’ I shrieked, and though they struck me across the mouth and tried to drag me up to the trees, I kept on yelling, ’Help me, my brave boys!  Help me, my children!  They are murdering your colonel!’

For the moment my wounds and my troubles had brought on a delirium, and I looked for nothing less than my five hundred hussars, kettle-drums and all, to appear at the opening of the glade.

But that which really appeared was very different to anything which I had conceived.  Into the clear space there came galloping a fine young man upon a most beautiful roan horse.  He was fresh-faced and pleasant-looking, with the most debonair bearing in the world and the most gallant way of carrying himself—­a way which reminded me somewhat of my own.  He wore a singular coat which had once been red all over, but which was now stained to the colour of a withered oak-leaf wherever the weather could reach it.  His shoulder-straps, however, were of golden lace, and he had a bright metal helmet upon his head, with a coquettish white plume upon one side of its crest.  He trotted his horse up the glade, while behind him rode four cavaliers in the same dress—­all clean-shaven, with round, comely faces, looking to me more like monks than dragoons.  At a short, gruff order they halted with a rattle of arms, while their leader cantered forward, the fire beating upon his eager face and the beautiful head of his charger.  I knew, of course, by the strange coats that they were English.  It was the first sight that I had ever had of them, but from their stout bearing and their masterful way I could see at a glance that what I had always been told was true, and that they were excellent people to fight against.

‘Well, well, well!’ cried the young officer, in sufficiently bad French, ’what game are you up to here?  Who was that who was yelling for help, and what are you trying to do to him?’

It was at that moment that I learned to bless those months which Obriant, the descendant of the Irish kings, had spent in teaching me the tongue of the English.  My ankles had just been freed, so that I had only to slip my hands out of the cords, and with a single rush I had flown across, picked up my sabre where it lay by the fire, and hurled myself on to the saddle of poor Vidal’s horse.  Yes, for all my wounded ankle, I never put foot to stirrup, but was in the seat in a single bound.  I tore the halter from the tree, and before these villains could so much as snap a pistol at me I was beside the English officer.

‘I surrender to you, sir,’ I cried; though I daresay my English was not very much better than his French.  ’If you will look at that tree to the left you will see what these villains do to the honourable gentlemen who fall into their hands.’

The fire had flared up at that moment, and there was poor Vidal exposed before them, as horrible an object as one could see in a nightmare.  ‘Godam!’ cried the officer, and ‘Godam!’ cried each of the four troopers, which is the same as with us when we cry ‘Mon Dieu!’ Out rasped the five swords, and the four men closed up.  One, who wore a sergeant’s chevrons, laughed and clapped me on the shoulder.