’Save on the side of the town, there is no place within a mile of the Abbey where you could shelter man or horse,’ said he.  ’As to the townsfolk, they are not to be trusted.  I fear, my son, that your excellent plan would have little chance of success in the face of the vigilant guard which these men keep.’

‘I see no other way,’ answered I.  ’Hussars of Conflans are not so plentiful that I can afford to run half a squadron of them against a forty-foot wall with five hundred infantry behind it.’

‘I am a man of peace,’ said the Abbot, ’and yet I may, perhaps, give a word of counsel.  I know these villains and their ways.  Who should do so better, seeing that I have stayed for a month in this lonely spot, looking down in weariness of heart at the Abbey which was my own?  I will tell you now what I should myself do if I were in your place.’

‘Pray tell us, father,’ we cried, both together.

’You must know that bodies of deserters, both French and English, are continually coming in to them, carrying their weapons with them.  Now, what is there to prevent you and your men from pretending to be such a body, and so making your way into the Abbey?’

I was amazed at the simplicity of the thing, and I embraced the good Abbot.  The Bart, however, had some objections to offer.

‘That is all very well,’ said he, ’but if these fellows are as sharp as you say, it is not very likely that they are going to let a hundred armed strangers into their crib.  From all I have heard of Mr Morgan, or Marshal Millefleurs, or whatever the rascal’s name is, I give him credit for more sense than that.’

‘Well, then,’ I cried, ’let us send fifty in, and let them at daybreak throw open the gates to the other fifty, who will be waiting outside.’

We discussed the question at great length and with much foresight and discretion.  If it had been Massena and Wellington instead of two young officers of light cavalry, we could not have weighed it all with more judgment.  At last we agreed, the Bart and I, that one of us should indeed go with fifty men, under pretence of being deserters, and that in the early morning he should gain command of the gate and admit the others.  The Abbot, it is true, was still of opinion that it was dangerous to divide our force, but finding that we were both of the same mind, he shrugged his shoulders and gave in.

‘There is only one thing that I would ask,’ said he.  ’If you lay hands upon this Marshal Millefleurs—­this dog of a brigand—­what will you do with him?’

‘Hang him,’ I answered.

‘It is too easy a death,’ cried the Capuchin, with a vindictive glow in his dark eyes.  ’Had I my way with him—­but, oh, what thoughts are these for a servant of God to harbour!’ He clapped his hands to his forehead like one who is half demented by his troubles, and rushed out of the room.