tched upon
the ground, but the sight had never affected me like those two silent
figures who were my companions in that shadowy room. I rushed into the
street as the Spaniard had done, eager only to leave that house of gloom
behind me, and I had run as far as the cathedral before my wits came
back to me.

There I stopped, panting, in the shadow, and, my hand pressed to my
side, I tried to collect my scattered senses and to plan out what I
should do. As I stood there, breathless, the great brass bells roared
twice above my head. It was two o'clock. Four was the hour when the
storming-party would be in its place. I had still two hours in which to
act.

The cathedral was brilliantly lit within, and a number of people were
passing in and out; so I entered, thinking that I was less likely to
be accosted there, and that I might have quiet to form my plans. It
was certainly a singular sight, for the place had been turned into
an hospital, a refuge, and a store-house. One aisle was crammed with
provisions, another was littered with sick and wounded, while in the
centre a great number of helpless people had taken up their abode, and
had even lit their cooking fires upon the mosaic floors. There were many
at prayer, so I knelt in the shadow of a pillar, and I prayed with
all my heart that I might have the good luck to get out of this scrape
alive, and that I might do such a deed that night as would make my name
as famous in Spain as it had already become in Germany. I waited until
the clock struck three, and then I left the cathedral and made my
way toward the Convent of the Madonna, where the assault was to be
delivered. You will understand, you who know me so well, that I was not
the man to return tamely to the French camp with the report that our
agent was dead and that other means must be found of entering the city.
Either I should find some means to finish his uncompleted task or there
would be a vacancy for a senior captain in the Hussars of Conflans.

I passed unquestioned down the broad boulevard, which I have already
described, until I came to the great stone convent which formed the
outwork of the defence.

It was built in a square with a garden in the centre. In this garden
some hundreds of men were assembled, all armed and ready, for it was
known, of course, within the town that this was the point against which
the French attack was likely to be made. Up to this time our fighting
all over Europe had always been d