singing our own ballads, you understand. I have some little facility in that direction, and I do not at all despair of seeing some of my poor efforts in print before long, and with 'Madrid' upon the title-page, too. But we must get back to business. May I ask what your name is?"
"Etienne Gerard."
"Rank?"
"Colonel."
"Corps?"
"The Third Hussars of Conflans."
"You are young for a colonel."
"My career has been an eventful one."
"Tut, that makes it the sadder," said he, with his bland smile.
I made no answer to that, but I tried to show him by my bearing that I was ready for the worst which could befall me.
"By the way, I rather fancy that we have had some of your corps here," said he, turning over the pages of his big brown register. "We endeavour to keep a record of our operations. Here is a heading under June 24th. Have you not a young officer named Soubiron, a tall, slight youth with light hair?"
"Certainly."
"I see that we buried him upon that date."
"Poor lad!" I cried. "And how did he die?"
