ir, then," said Marshal Lannes, as he passed upon his way.

I hurried through the shattered door of the convent.

When I reached the roofless house in which we had held the consultation
the night before, I threw off my gown and I put on the busby and sabre
which I had left there.

Then, a Hussar once more, I hurried onward to the grove which was
our rendezvous. My brain was still reeling from the concussion of the
powder, and I was exhausted by the many emotions which had shaken me
during that terrible night. It is like a dream, all that walk in the
first dim grey light of dawn, with the smouldering camp-fires around
me and the buzz of the waking army. Bugles and drums in every direction
were mustering the infantry, for the explosion and the shouting had told
their own tale. I strode onward until, as I entered the little clump of
cork oaks behind the horse lines, I saw my twelve comrades waiting in
a group, their sabres at their sides. They looked at me curiously as I
approached. Perhaps with my powder-blackened face and my blood-stained
hands I seemed a different Gerard to the young captain whom they had
made game of the night before.

"Good morning, gentlemen," said I. "I regret exceedingly if I have kept
you waiting, but I have not been master of my own time."

They said nothing, but they still scanned me with curious eyes. I can
see them now, standing in a line before me, tall men and short men,
stout men and thin men: Olivier, with his warlike moustache; the thin,
eager face of Pelletan; young Oudin, flushed by his first duel; Mortier,
with the sword-cut across his wrinkled brow.

I laid aside my busby and drew my sword.

"I have one favour to ask you, gentlemen," said I.

"Marshal Lannes has invited me to breakfast and I cannot keep him
waiting."

"What do you suggest?" asked Major Olivier.

"That you release me from my promise to give you five minutes each, and
that you will permit me to attack you all together." I stood upon my
guard as I spoke.

But their answer was truly beautiful and truly French. With one impulse
the twelve swords flew from their scabbards and were raised in salute.
There they stood, the twelve of them, motionless, their heels together,
each with his sword upright before his face.

I staggered back from them. I looked from one to the other. For an
instant I could not believe my own eyes. They were paying me homage,
these, the men who had jeered me! Then I understood it all. I s