Suddenly the order was given to fix bayonets, and immediately afterwards came the command to charge.  Gouache was all at once aware that he was rushing up hill at the top of his speed towards a small grove of trees that crowned the eminence.  The bright red shirts of the enemy were visible before him amongst the dry underbrush, and before he knew what he was about he saw that he had run a Garibaldian through the calf of the leg.  The man tumbled down, and Gouache stood over him, looking at him in some surprise.  While he was staring at his fellow-foe the latter pulled out a pistol and fired at him, but the weapon only snapped harmlessly.

“As the thing won’t go off,” said the man coolly, “perhaps you will be good enough to take your bayonet out of my leg.”

He spoke in Italian, with a foreign accent, but in a tone of voice and with a manner which proclaimed him a gentleman.  There was a look of half comic discomfiture in his face that amused Gouache, who carefully extracted the steel from the wound, and offered to help his prisoner to his feet.  The latter, however, found it hard to stand.

“Circumstances point to the sitting posture,” he said, sinking down again.  “I suppose I am your prisoner.  If you have anything to do, pray do not let me detain you.  I cannot get away and you will probably find me here when you come back to dinner.  I will occupy myself in cursing you while you are gone.”

“You are very kind,” said Gouache, with a laugh.  “May I offer you a cigarette and a little brandy?”

The stranger looked up in some astonishment as he heard Gouache’s voice, and took the proffered flask in silence, as well as a couple of cigarettes from the case.

“Thank you,” he said after a pause.  “I will not curse you quite as heartily as I meant to do.  You are very civil.”

“Do not mention it,” replied Gouache.  “I wish you a very good-morning, and I hope to have the pleasure of your company at dinner to-night.”

Thereupon the Zouave shouldered his rifle and trotted off down the hill.  The whole incident had not occupied more than three minutes and his comrades were not far off, pursuing the Garibaldians in the direction of a large farmhouse, which afforded the prospect of shelter and the means of defence.  Half a dozen killed and wounded remained upon the hill besides Gouache’s prisoner.

The Vigna di Santucci, as the farmhouse was called, was a strong building surrounded by walls and fences.  A large number of the enemy had fallen back upon this point and it now became evident that they meant to make a determined resistance.  As the Zouaves came up, led by Charette in person, the Reds opened a heavy fire upon their advancing ranks.  The shots rattled from the walls and windows in rapid succession, and took deadly effect at the short range.  The Zouaves blazed away in reply with their chassepots, but the deep embrasures and high parapets offered an excellent shelter for the riflemen, and it was