"My good friend," I replied, "You are entirely mistaken in supposing that I had any share in this matter. On my honour, I was not aware who it was that fought so gallantly beside me till I entered the hut this moment. He gave me no intimation of it; and I did not even know that I had an additional man in the field."

"I never knew anything of it," cried Moric Endem, who had heard our conversation. "I never knew anything of it till we were just going to march, and then he came up to me, and besought me, for pity's sake, to let him go with us. He had bought himself a casque and a cuirass; and I pushed him in anywhere into the ranks, thinking it a devil of a pity that a fine, high-spirited boy should be balked, and made a mere merchant of; to sit stupifying himself over a tall book, or selling silks and satins by the yard, when he is as proper a youth as ever was seen to take a lance in his hand and meet the enemy."

Martin Vern shook his head with a melancholy "What has come of it?" and added, "Well, Monsieur de Cerons, I am glad at least you had no share in it; for I owe you so much gratitude for different things, that I would rather repay you in any other way than think you had done me an unkindness to make the balance even. What I am to do now I cannot tell. Business of infinite importance, not only to myself, but to the prince and the admiral, calls me immediately to Bordeaux; and yet I cannot bear to leave this boy, whom his dying father placed under my charge not two months ago, without any one to take care of him or attend him."

"Leave him to me, my good friend; leave him to me," I said. "I will treat him, depend upon it, as a brother. To move him far now is out of the question; several days must elapse before Angoulême falls, as they have determined upon making another breach, and we have but five cannon in the army, two of which are but bastards. By the time the place is taken, he will be better able to bear moving; and no care shall be wanting on my part, I can assure you. You yourself will be back ere long, and, I trust, will find him better in all respects."

Martin Vern pressed my hand in his; and, thanking me with the deep, low-spoken words of true gratitude, he suffered it to be as I wished. At my suggestion, we sought for and were fortunate enough to find one of those beds which are fitted to horse-litters, which the merchant immediately bought in case that it should be necessary to move the wounded man to any distance. In it he was carried almost immediately to the house where Martin Vern had taken up his own abode, and which his wealth had ensured should be of a far superior description. There he placed in my hands the large sum of five hundred crowns for his nephew's expenses, and the fifty which he had promised for my escort. He besought me earnestly to spare nothing which could tend to the youth's recovery, to buy horses immediately to carry the litter in case of need; to ensure the constant attendance of the surgeon; and to see him myself as frequently as I could.

I said and did all that I could to comfort the worthy merchant; and a few words spoken to him in a low tone by his nephew ere he departed, telling him that, though I did not know who he was, I had saved his life by bearing him away from the breach, seemed to console good Martin Vern greatly, and give him greater confidence to leave the youth in my charge.

When all this was settled he bade him adieu, and mounted his horse to depart. He paused a moment to grasp my hand in his, and then, just as he was setting out, said, "The time will come, Monsieur de Cerons--the time will come, I am quite sure and confident, when I shall have an opportunity of showing my gratitude for all that you have done for me and mine."

As soon as he was gone I bethought me of my prisoner, whose situation for the time had quite passed from my mind; and, hastening back where I had left Moric Endem, I found my worthy lieutenant busily engaged in making preparations for rendering the hovel a somewhat more comfortable dwelling. As, however, it had been now arranged that I was to take up my abode in the house which had been hired for the young merchant, the adorning of what he termed my lodging was no longer necessary; and, on inquiring after the prisoner, I found that they had put him in a sort of back shed, where the old woman I had before seen was even then in the act of dressing the wound on his head.

On entering, I found a sentry at the door, and the prisoner with his hands tied, and very indignant at the treatment he had received. I was informed, however, that he had twice endeavoured to make his escape, and I therefore thought that few apologies were necessary. In justification of his conduct, he said that he had never surrendered, rescue or no rescue; and in consequence, before I would suffer his hands to be untied, I made him pronounce these words, something against his will. Although he was undoubtedly brave and high-spirited, I never yet saw man more full of loud-tongued bravado: and I thought that, before he had vented his indignation, he would literally have tried to cut my throat in the shed. I listened to all he had to say with much more coolness than he seemed to think respectful, and merely replied while I uncovered my arm, that the old woman might exercise her skill upon me also, "Sir, you are a prisoner, and therefore privileged to rail."

Before his hands had been untied for five minutes, however, he approached, looked at my arm, and said, "That's an awkward wound. How did you come by that, sir!"