He laughed, a harsh grating cackle of satisfaction that made several of the Spaniards behind him turn livid with wrath. General Chabot, to whom his remarks were ostensibly addressed, seemed ill at ease. Like most of Napoleon’s lieutenants, he was a rough-and-ready soldier, but he at any rate had a genuine Frenchman’s respect for a gallant foe, and he was reluctant to connive, even tacitly, at De Ferussat’s gross insult to helpless prisoners. But, all unconscious of the contempt with which his superior officer was beginning to regard him, the colonel continued: "Our division, you observe, was posted behind the Cerro de Santa Barbara yonder. There were thousands of Spaniards on the summit. Behold how steep the slope! Imagine their marvellous bravery! Ma foi, monsieur, but courage is indeed magnificent at the top of a hill! Hi! hi! They plumed themselves that we could not get at them. But mark, monsieur le général, that was a mistake—oh! trifling, but a mistake all the same. Why? There were French at the bottom. I was there, monsieur. To me turns General Morlot, and says: ’De Ferussat, mon ami, your battalion will take that hill.’ A word—parbleu! and at a word the thing is done. Do you see, monsieur le general, that narrow cleft on the hillside? Voila! That is where we climbed up, I and my men." The general glanced somewhat incredulously at the protuberant figure beside him. "It was unguarded, and before the Spaniards knew what was happening, behold! we are upon them. A few minutes, then pouf!—General Roca’s division is pouring past the spot where we are now standing, squeezing through the streets of the city on to the Saragossa road. Farther to the left yonder, General Lefebvre-Desnouettes—alas that he is now a prisoner!—broke the enemy’s centre with his cavalry; and presto! the other Spanish generals were kissing the heels of Roca’s braves, off to Saragossa. Tredame! how these Spaniards can run when there is a French bayonet behind them! It was laughable, truly a comedy, a farce. I laugh always when I think of it. Hi! hi!" Colonel de Ferussat’s recollections had once more overcome his gravity; but the first strident notes of his cackle had barely had time to lacerate the ears of the prisoners when there was a slight commotion behind him. Even while his mouth was agape he felt a powerful grip upon his collar, and in a twinkling he was turning a complete somersault from the saddle to the balustrade, and thence to the floor of the veranda. While he had been delivering himself of his double-edged reminiscences a young Spanish officer, unobtrusively detaching himself from the group, had moved quietly to within striking distance of the sentry on guard, who was listening with open-mouthed appreciation. Disposing of him with a single knock-down blow, the officer had leapt upon the balustrade and hurled the fat colonel from his seat.