“You shot a French chasseur, and cut down a second, as I am informed.”
“It is true; these things I did in order to effect escape.”
“Then, did you not meet these bandits here by previous appointment? Are you not a spy—ha?” exclaimed the colonel.
“No—this posada lay directly in my route, as I was bound for Valencia. Chance brought these men and myself together, and I knew nothing of their designs, their names, nor their occupations. On this head, my guide, the muleteer, will satisfy you.”
At this period of the proceedings, Captain St. Pierre whispered something in the colonel’s ear. It was a corroboration, on his part, that the statement I made was true. The colonel nodded, and thus continued:—
“My friend, St. Pierre, confirms your story. I have had the honour of meeting your countrymen in the field, and they have taught me to respect them. The English are stout and gallant soldiers; and at a soldier’s hands are entitled to that honourable consideration which the brave give and receive from each other. But these brigands with whom you have unhappily associated,—these murdering, dastardly, Spaniards———”
“False, by the Virgin!” exclaimed the younger partida of the two: “No dastards, robber!—Look out in yonder court-yard—you’ll see there a few mementos of a Spaniard’s vengeance; and if you lift yon cloak again, you will find, that though he departed somewhat hurriedly, the Empecinado did not forget to leave behind a token that will bring him occasionally to your remembrance.”
“The Empecinado!” exclaimed a dozen voices.
“Ay, Juan Diez!” was the answer.
“Hell and furies! Mount every man; cross the bridge, Captain St. Pierre; surround the cork wood—they may still be lurking there. I’ll give you twenty voltigeurs. Carry them en croupe. They will beat the coverts that horsemen cannot enter. Bring back, dead or living, the enemy of the emperor—the murderer of Henri Lefevre!” The guerillas laughed scornfully. “The cork-wood!—Will Juan Diez stay there to listen to the nightingales?” said the younger.