“Caramba!” he exclaimed, with a stare of surprise, “you and I have met before, I think.”
I returned the stare with interest, for though I recognized him I could hardly believe my own eyes.
“On the field of Salamanca?”
“Of course. You are the English officer who behaved so insolently and got me reprimanded.” (This in French.)
“I did no more than my duty. It was you that behaved insolently.”
“Take care what you say, señor, or por Dios—There is no English general to whom you can appeal for protection now. What are you doing here?”
“Not much good, I fear. Your men brought me: I had not the least desire to come, I assure you.”
“You were caught on the hill yonder, surveying the town through a glass, and Sergeant Prim overheard part of a conversation which leaves no doubt that you are officers in Mejia’s army. Besides, you were seen coming from the quarter where he encamped this morning. Is this so?”
Carmen and I exchanged glances. My worst fears were confirmed—we had been betrayed.
“Is this so? I repeat.”