"You are right, sir," cried I, catching at the words; "I may know but little, and that little, perhaps, valueless and insignificant; but my truth no man shall gainsay."
The boldness of this speech from one wasted and miserable as I was, with tattered shoes and ragged clothes, caused a hearty laugh, in which, as much from policy as feeling, I joined myself.
"Come here, mon cher," said an infantry colonel, as, walking to the door of the room, he drew his telescope from his pocket, "you tell us of a coup de main—on the Monte Faccio, is it not?"
"Yes," replied I, promptly, "so I understand the name."
"Well, have you ever seen the place?"
"Never."
"Well, there it is yonder," and he handed me his glass as he spoke; "you see that large beetling cliff, with the olives at the foot. There, on the summit stands the Monte Faccio. The road—the pathway rather, and a steep one it is—leads up where you see those goats feeding, and crosses in front of the crag, directly beneath the fire of the batteries. There's not a spot on
the whole ascent where three men could march abreast, and wherever there is any shelter from fire, the guns of the 'Sprona,' that small fort to the right, take the whole position. What do you think of your counsel now?"
"You forget, sir, it is not my counsel. I merely repeat what I overheard."
"And do you mean to say, that the men who gave that advice were serious, or capable of adopting it themselves?"