“’Tis he—’tis he.”
“What the young Tyrolese, Marie?”
“Of course it is, Sulpice; who else could it be? Your servant, Tyrolese—what brings you here?”
“Hang him—hang him—a spy!” shrieked out a full dozen of the brave 11th.
“What—hang him—who saved my life?”
“Cré-é-é-é—’tis another affair that—he shall live,” decided also at least a dozen of the brave 11th.
“But for him I should have been at this moment at the bottom of a frightful precipice. Yes; and he nearly lost his own life.”
“Brother—he’s a brother—he shall be one of us!” was the dictum of the men of the brave 11th. “Give him a welcome. Marie—a glass of brandy.”
Briskly Marie poured it out.
“Long live the French—my new friends,” said the new recruit, raising his glass.