"Pardieu!" he exclaimed, setting down the silver jug after a long draught, "what do I see—Monsieur Gauntlet of the Grey Scots—a prisoner, eh? In the dusk I took you in your red coat for a mousquetaire rouge."
"Monsieur is a prisoner, who, for the service he has done my family, returns free to the allied lines to-morrow," said the Duke, who had been rapidly skimming the despatch, while Boisguiller had been keeping up a running fire of small talk. "I must leave you, messieurs; Monjoy will take my place at the head of the table, as this despatch requires immediate attention. Contades returns to France for a time; the entire command is vested in me, and the army is to be augmented to a hundred thousand men, while thirty thousand more are to be formed upon the Rhine, under the orders of the Comte St. Germain. My brother's regiment of Cuirassiers must ride towards Wetzler, as the King of Prussia's Death's-head Hussars are marching in that direction. We move from this early——"
Loud cries of "Bravo—Vive le Roi! Vive le Maréchal Duc!" rang round the table.
"And the castles of Marburg and Dillenburg may soon have some powder burnt before them. You see, M. Gauntlet, I have no secrets from you, though you were so reserved with me this morning. Adieu, messieurs—make yourselves at home; I am an old campaigner, but must keep my head clear for the work of the bureau."
And with a smiling bow the stately old Maréchal left us. Then around the table the conversation became more gay, free, and unrestrained; the wine-decanters were circulated with a rapidity that loosened every tongue, and as usual with Frenchmen, they all talked at once without listening much to each other.
CHAPTER IX.
MONJOY.
When most of the officers had withdrawn, Monjoy drew close to me and said,—
"There is more in the Maréchal's dispatch than met our ears—matters not pleasant to the pride of de Broglie."
"How?" said I.