“You are in good hands, Philip,” said the Colonel; “you are at my house in the Place Vendome, at Paris, of which I am the military Governor.  You and Lanty were knocked down by the wind of the cannon-ball at Burgos.  Do not be ashamed:  ’twas the Emperor pointed the gun;” and the Colonel took off his hat as he mentioned the name darling to France.  “When our troops returned from the sally in which your gallant storming party was driven back, you were found on the glacis, and I had you brought into the City.  Your reason had left you, however, when you returned to life; but, unwilling to desert the son of my old friend, Philip Fogarty, who saved my life in ’98, I brought you in my carriage to Paris.”

“And many’s the time you tried to jump out of the windy, Masther Phil,” said Clancy.

“Brought you to Paris,” resumed the Colonel, smiling; “where, by the soins of my friends Broussais, Esquirol, and Baron Larrey, you have been restored to health, thank heaven!”

“And that lovely angel who quitted the apartment?” I cried.

“That lovely angel is the Lady Blanche Sarsfield, my ward, a descendant of the gallant Lucan, and who may be, when she chooses, Madame la Marechale de Cambaceres, Duchess of Illyria.”

“Why did you deliver the ruffian when he was in my grasp?” I cried.

“Why did Lanty deliver you when in mine?” the Colonel replied.  “C’est la fortune de la guerre, mon garcon; but calm yourself, and take this potion which Blanche has prepared for you.”

I drank the tisane eagerly when I heard whose fair hands had compounded it, and its effects were speedily beneficial to me, for I sank into a cool and refreshing slumber.

From that day I began to mend rapidly, with all the elasticity of youth’s happy time.  Blanche—­the enchanting Blanche—­ministered henceforth to me, for I would take no medicine but from her lily hand.  And what were the effects?  ’Faith, ere a month was past, the patient was over head and ears in love with the doctor; and as for Baron Larrey, and Broussais, and Esquirol, they were sent to the right-about.  In a short time I was in a situation to do justice to the gigot aux navets, the boeuf aux cornichons, and the other delicious entremets of the Marquis’s board, with an appetite that astonished some of the Frenchmen who frequented it.

“Wait till he’s quite well, Miss,” said Lanty, who waited always behind me. “‘Faith! when he’s in health, I’d back him to ate a cow, barrin’ the horns and teel.”  I sent a decanter at the rogue’s head, by way of answer to his impertinence.

Although the disgusting Cambaceres did his best to have my parole withdrawn from me, and to cause me to be sent to the English depot of prisoners at Verdun, the Marquis’s interest with the Emperor prevailed, and I was allowed to remain at Paris, the happiest of prisoners, at the Colonel’s hotel at the Place Vendome.  I here had the opportunity (an opportunity not lost, I flatter myself, on a young