of it stood a
muffled figure, who held Violette by the bridle.

"You told me to be kind to the next French officer whom I found in
distress," said he. "Good luck! Bon voyage!" he whispered, as I bounded
into the saddle.

"Remember, 'Poltava' is the watchword."

It was well that he had given it to me, for twice I had to pass Cossack
pickets before I was clear of the lines.

I had just ridden past the last vedettes and hoped that I was a free man
again, when there was a soft thudding in the snow behind me, and a heavy
man upon a great black horse came swiftly after me. My first impulse was
to put spurs to Violette. My second, as I saw a long black beard against
a steel cuirass, was to halt and await him.

"I thought that it was you, you dog of a Frenchman," he cried, shaking
his drawn sword at me. "So you have broken your parole, you rascal!"

"I gave no parole."

"You lie, you hound!"

I looked around and no one was coming. The vedettes were motionless and
distant. We were all alone, with the moon above and the snow beneath.
Fortune has ever been my friend.

"I gave you no parole."

"You gave it to the lady."

"Then I will answer for it to the lady."

"That would suit you better, no doubt. But, unfortunately, you will have
to answer for it to me."

"I am ready."

"Your sword, too! There is treason in this! Ah, I see it all! The woman
has helped you. She shall see Siberia for this night's work."

The words were his death-warrant. For Sophie's sake I could not let him
go back alive. Our blades crossed, and an instant later mine was through
his black beard and deep in his throat. I was on the ground almost as
soon as he, but the one thrust was enough. He died, snapping his teeth
at my ankles like a savage wolf.

Two days later I had rejoined the army at Smolensk, and was a part once
more of that dreary procession which tramped onward through the snow,
leaving a long weal of blood to show the path which it had taken.

Enough, my friends; I would not re-awaken the memory of those days of
misery and death. They still come to haunt me in my dreams. When we
halted at last in Warsaw we had left behind us our guns, our transport,
and three-fourths of our comrades. But we did not leave behind us the
honour of Etienne Gerard. They have said that I broke my parole. Let
them beware how they say it to my face, for the story is as I tell it,
and old as I am my forefinger is not too weak to press a trigger when my