orse in Massena's army. The next he lay
upon his side, worth only the price of his hide, and I stood there that
most helpless, most ungainly of creatures, a dismounted Hussar.
What could I do with my boots, my spurs, my trailing sabre? I was far
inside the enemy's lines. How could I hope to get back again? I am not
ashamed to say that I, Etienne Gerard, sat upon my dead horse and sank
my face in my hands in my despair. Already the first streaks were
whitening the east. In half an hour it would be light. That I should
have won my way past every obstacle and then at this last instant be
left at the mercy of my enemies, my mission ruined, and myself a
prisoner--was it not enough to break a soldier's heart?

But courage, my friends! We have these moments of weakness, the bravest
of us; but I have a spirit like a slip of steel, for the more you bend
it the higher it springs. One spasm of despair, and then a brain of ice
and a heart of fire. All was not yet lost. I who had come through so
many hazards would come through this one also. I rose from my horse and
considered what had best be done.

And first of all it was certain that I could not get back. Long before
I could pass the lines it would be broad daylight. I must hide myself
for the day, and then devote the next night to my escape. I took the
saddle, holsters, and bridle from poor Voltigeur, and I concealed them
among some bushes, so that no one finding him could know that he was a
French horse. Then, leaving him lying there, I wandered on in search of
some place where I might be safe for the day. In every direction I
could see camp fires upon the sides of the hills, and already figures
had begun to move around them. I must hide quickly, or I was lost.

But where was I to hide? It was a vineyard in which I found myself, the
poles of the vines still standing, but the plants gone. There was no
cover there. Besides, I should want some food and water before another
night had come. I hurried wildly onwards through the waning darkness,
trusting that chance would be my friend. And I was not disappointed.
Chance is a woman, my friends, and she has her eye always upon a gallant
Hussar.

Well, then, as I stumbled through the vineyard, something loomed in
front of me, and I came upon a great square house with another long, low
building upon one side of it. Three roads met there, and it was easy to
see that this was the posada, or wine-shop. There was no