had been cruelly tortured to death. Brave though he
was, Leckinski shrank from such a fate as that.

Castagnos, who had been educated at Sorrize, spoke French well. 'Who
are you?' he asked in that language.

The prisoner made no answer, according to his plan. One of the staff
then interrogated him in German, and his replies were made sometimes in
German, sometimes in Russian. A word of French, or even a French accent,
would have cost Leckinski his life.

An unfortunate incident increased the ferocity of the Spaniards. An
aide-de-camp who felt assured that Leckinski was a French spy, rushed
into the room, dragging with him a man attired in brown cloth, and
wearing the peasant's high conical hat, adorned with a red feather. The
officer, forcing his way through the crowd, placed this man face to face
with Leckinski.

'Look!' he said; 'is this fellow a Russian or a German? _I_ say that he
is a French spy!'

The peasant gazed steadily at the young Pole. 'Yes!' he exclaimed, 'this
is a Frenchman. A few weeks ago I was at Madrid with some cut straw
which had been demanded from our village; and it was this man who
received my portion of forage, and gave me the receipt.'

This identification was correct. Castagnos indeed may have thought so;
but there was a possibility that the peasant was mistaken, and the
Spanish commander was more generous and humane than his followers. He
saw that the youth was not a Russian, but he was by no means sure that
he was a Frenchman--as, in fact, he was not. Leckinski's handsome face
and courageous behaviour told in his favour. Castagnos decided to give
him the benefit of the doubt; but he had hard work to restrain his
savage followers. A hundred threatening voices arose as the General
announced his decision, and the word 'traitor' was even applied to
himself.

'You desire, then,' said Castagnos, 'to risk a quarrel with Russia?'

'No,' answered his officers; 'but let us at least prove the fellow.'

'So be it.'

Leckinski knew enough Spanish to understand this brief conversation,
which put him more than ever on his guard. Out of the chamber he was
led, and thrown into a dungeon. When its door closed upon him he had
been eighteen hours without food. Nearly fainting, he fell on the
wretched bed which occupied a corner of the room. Here he had ample
leisure to contemplate his terrible position. At length, however, being
young and healthy, he fell into a sound sleep.

(_Concluded on page