Disappointed in all my well-founded hopes, for such I thought them, I departed to rejoin my regiment at Malta. Landing at Calais, I proceeded to Paris and thence continued my route to Marseilles. On the day we arrived at Avignon, where a large garrison was stationed, it happened that the commandant dined at the _table d’hôte_. I sat opposite to him, conversing with a young Spanish nobleman attached to the Spanish Embassy at the British Court, who took this route to return to Spain. Having met him in the diligence, I had soon discovered him to be a Spaniard, and in his language our discourse was maintained. During dinner the Peninsular campaigns became the topic of general conversation, in which I joined with the commandant, whom I soon recognised as an old opponent. He did not recognise me. Nine years had elapsed since our last meeting; he saw me walking lame into the room; and I was in mailcoach trim. Having with apparent carelessness asked him if he knew the Prince Prosper d’Arenberg, he answered in the affirmative, and that they were particular friends. He added that they were both taken prisoners in the same action. He then asked if I had been in Spain during the period of the campaigns. I said yes, when he remarked that perhaps I was in the Spanish Service. I told him that then, as well as now, I served in the British army. He asked if I were an Englishman; and when I said yes, he remarked in that complimentary strain peculiar to well-bred Frenchmen, that one rarely meets an individual speaking the languages of three different nations and with such exactness as to pass for a native of each. The Spanish _attaché_, not to be second in courtesy, attested the justice of the assertion so far as it related to Spanish, declaring that until that moment he took me for his countryman. The commandant then broke into the Spanish language, which, to say the truth, he spoke far from well; nor did I ever meet a Frenchman who could speak it without causing a smile from his auditors. Continuing his broken and ill-pronounced Spanish, at which the _attaché_ smiled and looked at me, the commandant said that he spoke in that language because he had taken me for a Spaniard, on which I replied that for a similar reason I spoke to him in French. He instantly fixed his eye on my countenance; he was beginning to recognise me. He then quickly asked me if I knew Lord Hill; and where I first became acquainted with Prince Prosper. I told him that I had the honour of knowing his lordship, and that my first acquaintance with the prince was at Arroyo Molinos in Spain. His eyes now opened wide and with apparent emotion he asked if he might take the liberty of asking my name, which I had no sooner mentioned than, starting from his chair and striding round to where I sat, to the no small astonishment of all present, he embraced me warmly, saying that he would not kiss me, for he had not forgotten Lisbon. He now presented me to the whole company,