in his Majesty rated him soundly for his
treatment of me, when I came away. I saw his old moustaches bristling
up; he knew he was in for it.'

A louder laugh than at first, but in somewhat of a different cadence,
induced me to torn my head, when what was my horror to see before me,
not my new friend the aide-de-camp, but General Oudinot himself, who
all this time had been listening to my polite observations regarding his
future welfare! There was a savage exultation in his look as his eye met
mine, and for a second or two he seemed to enjoy my confusion too much
to permit him to break silence. At last he said--

'Are you on parole, sir?'

'No,' I briefly replied, 'nor shall I be.'

'What, have I heard you aright? Do you refuse your parole?'

'Yes; I shall not pledge myself against attempting my escape the very
first opportunity that offers.'

'Indeed,' said he slowly, 'indeed! What is to become of poor General
Oudinot if such a casualty take place? But come, sir, I have his
Majesty's orders to accept your parole; if you refuse it, you are then
at _my_ disposal. I have received no other instructions about you. Yes
or no--I ask you for the last time.'

'No! distinctly no!'

'C'est bien; holla, garde! numero dix et onze.'

Two soldiers of the grenadiers, with fixed bayonets, appeared at the
door; a few hurried words were spoken, the only part of which I could
catch was the word _cachot_ I was at once ordered to rise; a soldier
walked on either side of me, and I was in this way conducted through
the city to the prison of the gendarmerie, where for the night I was
to remain, with orders to forward me the next morning at daybreak, with
some Spanish prisoners, on the road to Bayonne.

CHAPTER LIV. THE RETREAT

My cell, for such it was, although dignified with the appellation of
chamber, looked out by a small window upon a narrow street, the opposite
side to which was formed by the wall of a churchyard pertaining to a
convent. As day broke, I eagerly took my place at the casement to watch
what was going on without; but except some bareheaded figure of a monk
gliding along between the dark yew avenues, or some female in deep
mourning passing to her morning's devotions beside the grave of a
relative, I could see nothing. A deep silence seemed to brood over the
city, so lately the scene of festivity and mirth. Towards four o'clock,
however, I could hear the distant roll of drums, which gradually
extended from t