“Your loss must indeed have been great; your men crossed under the fire of a whole battery.”
“Not exactly,” said I; “our first party were quietly stationed in Oporto before you knew anything about it.”
“Ah, sacré Dieu! Treachery!” cried he, striking his forehead with his clinched fist.
“Not so; mere daring,—nothing more. But come, tell me something of your own adventures. How were you taken?”
“Simply thus,—I was sent to the rear with orders to the artillery to cut their traces, and leave the guns; and when coming back, my horse grew tired in the heavy ground, and I was spurring him to the utmost, when one of your heavy dragoons—an officer, too—dashed at me, and actually rode me down, horse and all. I lay for some time bruised by the fall, when an infantry soldier passing by seized me by the collar, and brought me to the rear. No matter, however, here I am now. You will not give me up; and perhaps I may one day live to repay the kindness.”
“You have not long joined?”
“It was my first battle; my epaulettes were very smart things yesterday, though they do look a little passés to-day. You are advancing, I suppose?”
I smiled without answering this question.
“Ah, I see you don’t wish to speak. Never mind, your discretion is thrown away upon me; for if I rejoined my regiment to-morrow, I should have forgotten all you told me,—all but your great kindness.” These last words he spoke, bowing slightly his head, and coloring as he said them.
“You are a dragoon, I think?” said I, endeavoring to change the topic.