"Scoundrel!" I exclaimed, losing all temper, "I am a gentleman—a British officer."
"Sacre coquin! men of honour do not prowl in the rear of an enemy's chain de quartiers in disguise: where is your uniform?"
I gave him a scornful glance in reply.
"Ouf!" said he, "you came to see our arrangements for capturing your crow's nest at Scylla. Behold, then, our pontoons, our battering train, our brigades of infantry and sappers: I trust you will report to monseigneur the Prince of Essling, that they are all ready for instant service."
"Monsieur, I demand my parole."
"If Massena grants a parole he may, but not so Regnier: you must be sent to the marshal; and I believe he is most likely to give you a yard or two of stout cord, and a leap from the nearest tree."
"Such conduct would not surprise me in the least!" I answered, bitterly; "the savage military government, which dragged the Duc d'Enghien from a neutral territory, and after a mockery of judicial form shot him by torchlight at midnight; and which so barbarously tortured to death a British officer, in the Temple, at Paris, must be capable of any inhumanity. After the ten thousand nameless atrocities by which France, since the days of the Revolution, has disgraced herself among the nations of Europe; no new violation of military honour, of humanity, or the laws of civilized nations, can be a subject of wonder."
"Ah, faquin! I could order you to be hanged in ten minutes."
"A day may yet come when this ruffianly treatment shall be repaid."
"Ouf! monsieur mouchard, Massena will look to that. At Castello di Bivona, you will be embarked on board La Vigilante courier gunboat, commanded by Antonio Balotte. He is a rough Lucchese, that same Antonio, who will string you to the yard-arm if you prove troublesome. Ouf! if the emperor was of my opinion, his soldiers would not take any prisoners." He grinned savagely, and summoned his orderly.