So far, then, all had gone well.  It was a cloudy night with a sprinkling of rain, which was in our favour, as there was the less chance of our presence being discovered.  My vedettes I placed two hundred yards in every direction, to guard against a surprise, and also to prevent any peasant who might stumble upon us from carrying the news to the Abbey.  Oudin and Papilette were to take turns of duty, while the others with their horses had snug quarters in a great wooden granary.  Having walked round and seen that all was as it should be, I flung myself upon the bed which the innkeeper had set apart for me, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

No doubt you have heard my name mentioned as being the beau-ideal of a soldier, and that not only by friends and admirers like our fellow-townsfolk, but also by old officers of the great wars who have shared the fortunes of those famous campaigns with me.  Truth and modesty compel me to say, however, that this is not so.  There are some gifts which I lack—­very few, no doubt—­but, still, amid the vast armies of the Emperor there may have been some who were free from those blemishes which stood between me and perfection.  Of bravery I say nothing.  Those who have seen me in the field are best fitted to speak about that.  I have often heard the soldiers discussing round the camp-fires as to who was the bravest man in the Grand Army.  Some said Murat, and some said Lasalle, and some Ney; but for my own part, when they asked me, I merely shrugged my shoulders and smiled.  It would have seemed mere conceit if I had answered that there was no man braver than Brigadier Gerard.  At the same time, facts are facts, and a man knows best what his own feelings are.  But there are other gifts besides bravery which are necessary for a soldier, and one of them is that he should be a light sleeper.  Now, from my boyhood onwards, I have been hard to wake, and it was this which brought me to ruin upon that night.

It may have been about two o’clock in the morning that I was suddenly conscious of a feeling of suffocation.  I tried to call out, but there was something which prevented me from uttering a sound.  I struggled to rise, but I could only flounder like a hamstrung horse.  I was strapped at the ankles, strapped at the knees, and strapped again at the wrists.  Only my eyes were free to move, and there at the foot of my couch, by the light of a Portuguese lamp, whom should I see but the Abbot and the innkeeper!

The latter’s heavy, white face had appeared to me when I looked upon it the evening before to express nothing but stupidity and terror.  Now, on the contrary, every feature bespoke brutality and ferocity.  Never have I seen a more dreadful-looking villain.  In his hand he held a long, dull-coloured knife.  The Abbot, on the other hand, was as polished and as dignified as ever.  His Capuchin gown had been thrown open, however, and I saw beneath it a black, frogged coat, such as I have seen among the English officers.  As our eyes met he leaned over the wooden end of the bed and laughed silently until it creaked again.