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‘Monsieur,’ he cried, in excellent French, ‘I surrender myself on a promise of quarter. But if I do not have your promise, I will then sell my life as dearly as I can.’

‘Sir,’ said I, ‘a Frenchman knows how to treat an unfortunate enemy. Your life is safe.’ With that he handed his sword over the top of the barrel, and I bowed with the candle on my heart. ‘Whom have I the honour of capturing?’ I asked.

‘I am the Count Boutkine, of the Emperor’s own Don Cossacks,’ said he. ‘I came out with my troop to reconnoitre Senlis, and as we found no sign of your people we determined to spend the night here.’

‘And would it be an indiscretion,’ I asked, ‘if I were to inquire how you came into the back cellar?’

‘Nothing more simple,’ said he. ‘It was our intention to start at early dawn. Feeling chilled after dressing, I thought that a cup of wine would do me no harm, so I came down to see what I could find. As I was rummaging about, the house was suddenly carried by assault so rapidly that by the time I had climbed the stairs it was all over. It only remained for me to save myself, so I came down here and hid myself in the back cellar, where you have found me.’

I thought of how old Bouvet had behaved under the same conditions, and the tears sprang to my eyes as I contemplated the glory of France. Then I had to consider what I should do next. It was clear that this Russian Count, being in the back cellar while we were in the front one, had not heard the sounds which would have told him that the house was once again in the hands of his own allies. If he should once understand this the tables would be turned, and I should be his prisoner instead of he being mine. What was I to do? I was at my wits’ end, when suddenly there came to me an idea so brilliant that I could not but be amazed at my own invention.

‘Count Boutkine,’ said I, ‘I find myself in a most difficult position.’

‘And why?’ he asked.

‘Because I have promised you your life.’

His jaw dropped a little.

‘You would not withdraw your promise?’ he cried.

‘If the worst comes to the worst I can die in your defence,’ said I; ‘but the difficulties are great.’

‘What is it, then?’ he asked.

‘I will be frank with you,’ said I. ‘You must know that our fellows, and especially the Poles, are so incensed against the Cossacks that the mere sight of the uniform drives them mad. They precipitate themselves instantly upon the wearer and tear him limb from limb. Even their officers cannot restrain them.’

The Russian grew pale at my words and the way in which I said them.

‘But this is terrible,’ said he.

‘Horrible!’ said I. ‘If we were to go up together at this moment I cannot promise how far I could protect you.’

‘I am in your hands,’ he cried. ‘What would you suggest that we should do? Would it not be best that I should remain here?’

‘That worst of all.’

‘And why?’

‘Because our fellows will ransack the house presently, and then you would be cut to pieces. No, no, I must go and break it to them. But even then, when once they see that accursed uniform, I do not know what may happen.’

‘Should I then take the uniform off?’

‘Excellent!’ I cried. ‘Hold, we have it! You will take your uniform off and put on mine. That will make you sacred to every French soldier.’

‘It is not the French I fear so much as the Poles.’

‘But my uniform will be a safeguard against either.’

‘How can I thank you?’ he cried. ‘But you–what are you to wear?’

‘I will wear yours.’

‘And perhaps fall a victim to your generosity?’

‘It is my duty to take the risk,’ I answered; ‘but I have no fears. I will ascend in your uniform. A hundred swords will be turned upon me. “Hold!” I will shout, “I am the Brigadier Gerard!” Then they will see my face. They will know me. And I will tell them about you. Under the shield of these clothes you will be sacred.’