That I might not be deficient in courtesy, I directed wine, decanters, &c., to be conveyed to the vaulted hall, where princely banners and Italian trophies had given place to racks of arms, iron-bound chests, and military stores. Oliver led in the officer, with his eyes covered by a handkerchief, which gave him rather a droll aspect. He was a short thick-set man, with wiry, grey moustachios, and wore the uniform of the ill-fated voltigeurs of the 23rd regiment.
"Monsieur, you will no doubt pardon this necessary muffling," said I, advancing; "but as you wished to see me—ha!"—at that moment Oliver withdrew the bandage, when lo! imagine my astonishment on seeing the features of General Regnier! I knew him in an instant; although, instead of the blue coat and gold oak-leaves, the stars and medals of the general of the empire, he wore the plain light green and silver braid of the 23rd. His wonder was not less on recognising me.
"Ouf! you have outflanked me—quite!" said he, bowing with a ludicrous air of confusion and assurance.
"Shame! shame, general!" I replied, with an air of scorn: "who is now the spy and deserves to be hanged or shot?"
"Not I," said he, with sang froid; "I am the bearer of a flag of truce."
"In your own name? Good!"
"No; in that of Joseph I., King of Naples, and the Marshal Prince of Essling."
"A paltry pretence, under which you came hither to reconnoitre our works, our cannon, and means of resistance. Away, sir! Back to your position, and remember that one consideration alone prevents me from horse-whipping you as you deserve, for the manner in which you treated me at Seminara."
"Horsewhip—mille baionettes!" replied he, with eyes flashing fire; "I must have reparation for that: monsieur, be so good as to recall those words?"
"Sir, remember your threats and the fetters."