"France," was my reply, in a voice as like the peasant's as possible.
"Advance and give the countersign," came the demand.
Another voice called from the darkness of the wall: "Come and drink, comrade; I've a brother with Bougainville."
"Jesu," said I to the sentinel, answering his demand for the countersign, and I spurred on my horse idly, though my heart was thumping hard, for there were several sturdy fellows lying beyond the dull handful of fire.
Instantly the sentinel's hand came to my bridle-rein. "Halt!" roared he.
Surely some good spirit was with me then to prompt me, for, with a careless laugh, as though I had not before finished the countersign, "Christ," I added—"Jesu Christ!"
With an oath the soldier let go the bridle-rein, the other opened the gates, and I passed through. I heard the first fellow swearing roundly to the others that he would "send yon courier to fires of hell, if he played with him again so."
The gates closed behind me, and I was in the town which had seen the worst days and best moments of my life. I rode along at a trot, and once again beyond the citadel was summoned by a sentinel. Safely passed on, I came down towards the Chateau St. Louis. I rode boldly up to the great entrance door, and handed the packet to the sentinel.
"From whom?" he asked.
"Look in the corner," said I. "And what business is't of yours?"