"Indeed, how singular! and you saved him from your troopers, and conducted him out of the press——"
"For which he gave me a draught of country wine from his canteen."
"The same. Ah, monsieur, my friend, I am that officer, and I owe you eternal thanks."
We shook hands with ardour.
"I had been severely wounded by the poniard of a villanous Spanish peasant, and was still suffering from its effects. Ah, it was quite a story, that affair; my evil eye brought it all about."
"Your evil eye?"
"Ah," he replied, laughing; "you would not think I had one, to look at me—I seem so innocent; but so I have, or, at least, had when I was in Spain; ha! ha! You have often heard the Spaniards speak of the Evil Eye—the Malocchio of the Italians? and how the women will veil themselves, cover up their children, and mutter a prayer if a stranger but glances at them."
"I have heard of that superstition, when on the borders of Estremadura; but your affair—"
"Listen, and fill your glass with the champagne—I call it 'The Evil Eye.'—'T is a perfect romance, and was well known to many a brave fellow of the 23rd, who has found his grave at the foot of Mont St. Jean."