A group of dark figures on the roadway now appeared about half-a-mile before me; and the gleam of steel informed me that they were armed. I hastened forward full of new hope and a fierce joy. Some of those persons were on foot, and others on horseback; their number seemed to be about twenty, and they marched in military order. As I gained on them, they halted; and then I perceived that two of the horsemen returned to reconnoitre. On drawing nearer, I could reckon ten mounted troopers, and ten musketeers on foot; but there was not a female with them. 'Stand, monsieur!' cried one, in French, but with a guttural accent; 'was it you who hallooed?' 'Yes, my friend,' said I, breathlessly. 'For what purpose, fellow?' I paused. 'Answer--I am General Goltz, of the Imperial army.' 'To stop you.' 'To stop us?' reiterated another, haughtily; 'here is an enterprising Gascon for you, gentlemen!' 'A Scot, as you may find to your cost, sirs,' said I, menacing them with my drawn sword. 'Is the Count de Bitche among you?' 'No,' replied one, laughing; 'the Count has more pleasant matters in hand than accompanying us. But what seek you here?' 'A companion I have lost--a young lady attired in a religious habit--' This was received by a hoarse shout of guttural German merriment; for most of the personages among whom I had so suddenly fallen were Imperialists belonging to the garrisons of Toul or Nanci. 'There is a convent of pretty Bernardine nuns at Commercy,' said General Goltz, turning his horse round; 'apply there, my friend. ''Tis a chevalier in the guise of an abbé!' said one. 'The devil lurking behind the cross!' added another. 'A spy of Louis XIII.--a mouchard! a mouchard!' cried the Lorraine musketeers, surrounding me. 'Hola, M. le General--M. le Provost Marechal--a rope, a rope! To the next tree with him! a rope for the mouchard!' This epithet for a spy or eavesdropper was peculiarly offensive then in France, being derived from the spies of M. de Mouchy, the Inquisitor-General under Francis II., and it inspired me with new anger. 'Who commands here?' I demanded, proudly, thrusting back the most forward with the hilt and edge of my sword. 'I command--I, Wolfgang Count Pappenheim,' replied a lofty and stern-looking cavalier, who was sheathed in burnished steel from neck to knees, and who wore a broad hat with a tall feather, and had long moustaches pointed straight out in a line with his ears. 'Hear me, Count,' said I, glad in this desperate extremity to avail myself of a little subterfuge; 'you dare not kill one who wears this dress.' 'Bah,' said he, roughly; 'I have an indulgence from the Pope to kill whom I please; but surrender, or by the death of the devil, my fellows will make black puddings of thee!'