"Excuse me, Captain St. Florian," said I, when he had ceased; "but on my honour, you make me blush for the army of France."
"Morbleu!" said he; "they were only Spaniards."
"But I have heard many an episode of horror blacker even than that of Donna Elvira, for I was one of those who followed up the retreating army of Massena, from the frontiers of Portuguese Estremadura, through desert fields and desolate cities, marked by fire and blood, and all that the wantonness and wickedness your devastators could inflict on a poor, a prostrate, and a defenceless people. I am warm, monsieur, but I pray you pardon me——"
"Ah! he was a stern old routier, Massena, and handled the dons so roughly, that the Emperor named him rightly the 'child of rapine.' I care not for being his apologist, as I never either loved or admired him, and once positively hated the old pagan, for reprimanding me in general orders, because, on our retreat from the lines of Torres Vedras, I neglected to destroy the house of a poor old hidalgo near Santarem, who had been so kind to me, that I omitted him in the list of devastations to be made by my foragers. Ouf! I got a lecture that was printed in the 'Moniteur,' and read at the head of every regiment in the division. But in revenge, that very night I affixed a scroll to the door of the marshal's quarters, saying—
"'This is the residence of the mighty Massena, Prince of Essling and Duke of Rivoli, who has made more noise in the world by beating the drum than by beating the British!'
"Corboeuf! what a frightful rage the old Turk was in, but he could never discover the author of the pasquil, which made him the laughing-stock of the whole army. But the sparing of that hidalgo's mansion and family was a most fortunate circumstance for me, as it was the means of saving my life three days after."
"In what manner?"
"He ransomed me for a hundred dollars from some rascally frontier guerillas who had captured me, and were on the point of putting me to death. Ouf! 'twas a devil of an adventure that. Shall I tell it you?"
"If you please," said I, lighting a fourth cigar.
"Well, then, listen, though perhaps it is not so much my story as that of a poor peasant whom the Estremadurans named Perez the Potter."