Early next morning I was roused by the sharp blast of a French trumpet, stirring all the echoes of Scylla. I was dressing hastily, when Lascelles, who commanded the barrier-guard, entered, saying that a flag of truce and a trumpet, sent by General Regnier, required a conference with the commandant. "Curse Regnier," said I, testily, while dragging on my boots; "I will not hold any communication with him, after the scandalous manner in which he has treated me." "But you may receive the officer, and hear that which he is ordered to communicate: at least answer this letter, of which he is the bearer." By the grey twilight of a February morning I opened the Frenchman’s despatch and read: "SUMMONS Of unconditional capitulation, and the articles thereof, agreed to between the commandant of Scylla, and Monsieur le General de Division, Regnier, Grand Officer of the Legion of Honour, Knight-Commander of the Iron Crown of Lombardy, Grand Cross of the Lion of Bavaria, Knight of St. Louis of France, Chef de Bataillon of the Grenadiers of the Imperial Guard," &c. &c. &c. "Bah!" cried Oliver, with a laugh; "throw it over the window." "Give Monsieur le General, Knight of St. Louis, and all that, my compliments, and say, I will return these articles with the first cannon ball fired on his trenches." "The enemy are close at hand this morning, and appear to have made great progress during the night." "Desire the officer commanding the artillery to have all the heavy guns loaded with tin-case-shot, in addition to iron balls; and to have the primings well looked to." "But the Frenchman—he is still waiting at the barriers—shall I show him up?" "You may—I have a particular message to his general." "He is a punchy, ungentlemanly kind of man, and appears to keep a sharp eye about him, evidently observing all our defences." "Lodge the trumpeter in the main-guard, and bind up the eyes of the officer: they served me so once; I will meet him in the old hall." That I might not be deficient in courtesy, I directed wine, decanters, &c., to be conveyed to the vaulted hall, where princely banners and Italian trophies had given place to racks of arms, iron-bound chests, and military stores. Oliver led in the officer, with his eyes covered by a handkerchief, which gave him rather a droll aspect. He was a short thick-set man, with wiry, grey moustachios, and wore the uniform of the ill-fated voltigeurs of the 23rd regiment. "Monsieur, you will no doubt pardon this necessary muffling," said I, advancing; "but as you wished to see me—ha!"—at that moment Oliver withdrew the bandage, when lo! imagine my astonishment on seeing the features of General Regnier! I knew him in an instant; although, instead of the blue coat and gold oak-leaves, the stars and medals of the general of the empire, he wore the plain light green and silver braid of the 23rd. His wonder was not less on recognising me.