“I thank you, sir.  I have fortunately been able to find quarters at an inn.”

“At any rate, I hope that you will sup with me.  I will then introduce you to some of my friends.”

Enghien was at the age of twenty-two of a striking rather than a handsome figure.  His forehead was wide, his eyes sunken and piercing, his nose very prominent and hooked giving to his face something of the expression of an eagle’s.  He resembled Turenne in the eagerness with which in childhood he had devoted himself to his studies, and especially to military exercises; but except that both possessed a remarkable genius for war, and both were extremely courageous, there was but slight resemblance between their characters.  While Turenne was prudent, patient, and thoughtful, weighing duly every step taken, bestowing the greatest pains upon the comfort and well being of his troops, and careful as to every detail that could bring about success in his operations, Conde was passionate and impetuous, acting upon impulse rather than reflection.  Personally ambitious, impatient of opposition, bitter in his enmities, his action and policy were influenced chiefly by his own ambitions and his own susceptibilities, rather than by the thought of what effect his action might have on the destinies of France.  He was a born general, and yet but a poor leader of men, one of the greatest military geniuses that the world has ever seen, and yet so full of faults, foibles, and weaknesses that, except from a military point of view, the term “the Great Conde” that posterity has given him is but little merited.  He had much brain and little heart.  Forced by his father into a marriage with a niece of Richelieu’s, he treated her badly and cruelly, although she was devoted to him, and was in all respects an estimable woman and a true wife, and that in a court where virtue was rare indeed.

At supper that evening Enghien introduced Hector first to the Marshal de l’Hopital and then to the young nobles of his company.

“Monsieur Campbell,” he said, “is the youngest of our party, and yet he is, as the Viscount of Turenne writes to me, one in whom he has the greatest confidence, and who has so carefully studied the art of war, and so much profited by his opportunities, that he would not hesitate to commit to him any command requiring at once courage, discretion, and military knowledge.  No one, gentlemen, could wish for a higher eulogium from a greater authority.  Turenne has lent him to me for the campaign, and indeed I feel grateful to him for so doing.  When I say, gentlemen, that it was he who saved the citadel of Turin to our arms, by undertaking and carrying out the perilous work of passing through the city and the Spanish lines to carry word to the half starved garrison that succour would arrive in a fortnight’s time, and so prevented their surrendering, you will admit that Turenne has not spoken too highly of his courage and ability.  I have heard the full details of the affair from Turenne’s own lips, when he paid a short visit to Paris after that campaign closed; and I should feel proud indeed had I accomplished such an enterprise.  Captain Campbell is a member of an old Scottish family, and his father died fighting for France at the siege of La Rochelle, a captain in the Scottish regiment.  And now, gentlemen, to supper.”