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These were scarcely lit when the governor, taking his cue, made a determined sortie and drove back the French light troops, who in the darkness had no sort of notion of the numbers attacking them. So completely hoaxed, indeed, was their commander that he, who had come with two divisions to take Almeida, and held it in the hollow of his hand, decamped early next morning and marched away to report, the fortress so strongly protected as to be unassailable.

Well this, as I say, showed talent. Artistically conceived as a ruse de guerre, in effect it saved Almeida. But a success of the kind too often tempts a man to try again and overshoot his mark. Now Marmont, with all his defects of vanity, was no fool. He had a strong army moderately well concentrated; he had, indeed, used it to little purpose, but he was not likely, with his knowledge of the total force available by the Allies in the north, to be seriously daunted or for long by a game of mere impudence. In my opinion Trant, after brazening him away from Almeida, should have thanked Heaven and walked humbly for a while. To me even his occupation of Guarda smelt of dangerous bravado, for Guarda is an eminently treacherous position, strong in itself, and admirable for a force sufficient to hold the ridges behind it, but capable of being turned on either hand, affording bad retreat, and, therefore, to a small force as perilous as it is attractive. But I was to find that Trant’s enterprise reached farther yet.

To my description of Marmont’s forces he listened (it seemed to me) impatiently, asking few questions and checking off each statement with “Yes, yes,” or “Quite so.” All the while his fingers were drumming on the camp table, and I had no sooner come to an end than he began to question me about the French marshal’s headquarters in Sabugal. The town itself and its position he knew as well as I did, perhaps better. I had not entered it on my way, but kept to the left bank of the Coa. I knew Marmont to be quartered there, but in what house or what part of the town I was ignorant. “And what the deuce can it matter?” I wondered.

“But could you not return and discover?” the general asked at length.

“Oh, as for that,” I answered, “it’s just as you choose to order.”

“It’s risky of course,” said he.

“It’s risky to be sure,” I agreed; “but if the risk comes in the day’s work I take it I shall have been in tighter corners.”

“Excuse me,” he said with a sort of deprecatory smile, “but I was not thinking of you; at least not altogether.” And I saw by his face that he held something in reserve and was in two minds about confiding it.

“I beg that you won’t think of me,” I said simply, for I have always made it a rule to let a general speak for himself and ask no questions which his words may not fairly cover. Outside of my own business (the limits of which are well defined) I seek no responsibility, least of all should I seek it in serving one whom I suspect of over-cleverness.

“Look here,” he said at length, “the Duke of Ragusa is a fine figure of a man.”

“Notoriously,” said I. “All Europe knows it, and he certainly knows it himself.”

“I have heard that his troops take him at his own valuation.”

“Well,” I answered, “he sits his horse gallantly; he has courage. At present he is only beginning to make his mistakes; and soldiers, like women, have a great idea of what a warrior ought to look like.”

“In fact,” said General Trant, “the loss of him would make an almighty difference.”

Now he had asked me to be seated and had poured me out a glass of wine from his decanter. But at these words I leapt up suddenly, jolting the table so that the glass danced and spilled half its contents.