"Indeed," said Archie, "I heard that you had great difficulty in escaping the clutches of our bad-tempered general, but I am unacquainted with the particulars."
"When I think of it, my friend," exclaimed Captain des Ecors, "I feel something of a strangling sensation in my throat. I should not complain, however, for in my case the general conducted affairs in due order; instead of hanging me first and trying me afterward, he came to the wise conclusion that the trial had better precede the hanging. The fate of the unhappy miller Nadeau, my fellow-prisoner, who was accused of the same crime as myself, and who was not tried until after his execution—the sad fate of this respectable man, whose innocence he heard too late, led him to hesitate before hanging me untried. In my captivity I passed many a bad quarter of an hour. All communication with the outside world was forbidden me. I had no means of learning what fate was in store for me. Every day I asked the sentinel who was walking up and down beneath my window if he had any news for me, and ordinarily I received in answer a cordial 'goddam.' At last a soldier, more accessible and good-humored, who could jabber a scrap of French, replied to my question, 'Vous pendar sept heures le matingul!' I believe this jolly and sympathetic creature put all his knowledge of French into that one phrase, for to every other question I asked I received the same reply—'Vous pendar sept heures le matingul!' It was easy to gather from this that I was to be hung some morning at seven o'clock, but what morning I could not learn. The outlook was anything but cheerful. For three whole days I had seen the body of the unfortunate Nadeau hanging from one of the arms of his wind mill, the plaything of the gale. Every morning I expected that I should be called to take his place on this novel and ingenious gibbet."
"Infamous!" cried Archie. "And the man was innocent!"
"This was proved at the inquest which was held after the execution," replied Captain des Ecors. "I should add that General Murray appeared to repent with bitterness for this murder, which he had committed in his haste. He heaped Nadeau's family with benefits, and adopted his two little orphan daughters, whom he took with him to England. Poor Nadeau!"
All the company echoed the words "Poor Nadeau!"
"Alas!" said Des Ecor philosophically, "if we were to set ourselves lamenting for all who have lost their lives by—But let us change a subject so painful." Then he sang the following song:
"The new Narcissus am I named,
Whom all men most admire;
From water have I been reclaimed,
In wine to drown my fire.
When I behold the rosy hue
That gives my face renown,
Enraptured with the lovely view,
I drink my image down.
"In all the universe is naught
But tribute pays to thee;
Even the winter's ice is brought
For thy benignant glee.
The Earth exerts her anxious care
Thy nurture to assist;
To ripen thee the sun shines fair;
To drink thee I exist."
The songs and choruses succeeded each other rapidly. That contributed by Madame Vincelot wrought up the merriment of the party to a high pitch.