“What’s immediate?” I asked.
“Please, sir,” he replied, “it’s an orderly come from Vittoria; and brought a letter for you, sir, directed ‘immediate’ on the back of it, sir.”
“Will you permit me?” I asked M. le Tisanier, raising the trap-door.
“Why, this is perfectly incredible,” said he. “Above, and all around, I was prepared. It never entered my thoughts that I could be assailed from the shades below.”
When I had raised the trap-door, there appeared—not Sergeant Pegden, but—the head of his halbert, and three glistening bayonets, fixed to the muzzles of three firelocks.
“Ground arms!” I cried. “Sergeant Pegden, show yourself.”
The muskets promptly subsided into the darkness from which they had emerged, and, with a letter in his hand, the Sergeant slowly rose.
While, partly amused, partly surprised, M. le Tisanier gazed on the wasted form and pallid visage of the Sergeant, who ascended like a spectre from the grave, I took the letter and opened it.
It was an order to adopt immediate measures for the removal of my invalids to the convalescent station at Vittoria, and then to rejoin forthwith my regiment on the frontiers of France, taking with me, to be exchanged for Sir Charles Popham of the —— light infantry, my prisoner, Le Vicomte d’Y, lieutenant of the —— Voltigeurs.
I. “M. le Vicomte, I am your most obedient, humble servant.”