He glared about him like some savage animal. He forgot his pain and his capture, in rage at such a proposition, and answered with an insulting laugh. "Oh--ha, ha!" screamed he, with the enjoyment of a hyena. "This maniac mistakes the Chevalier de Calembours for her husband Ladislaus. Excellent! _nom de Dieu!_ most excellent. Sweet madam, your troubles have crazed your brain. A chance resemblance has deceived you--_mon coeur_! You have mistaken your man." She heard him with a gasp of horror. She extricated herself and stood off, a dark shadow in the gray night. "You repudiate me once more?" she cried, in a thrilling voice. "Traitor, renegade--spy! You are not worthy of a woman's love; but you shall feel a woman's vengeance!" She snatched a stiletto from her bosom, and threw herself upon the prostrate rascal, but was caught by St. Udo and disarmed. "Enough, madam," said he, icily; "the miscreant shall expiate his villainies by death, but not at your hands." She submitted in silence, and without one backward look upon the man who had been her life's curse, she galloped back with her attendants, to watch over her dead boy, and to keep him from the dews of Heaven and the birds of prey for many a dread day. There is yet another scene to paint in this series of life-pictures, gentle reader. It is the last. On through dim night sped the little force, under a rising moon eclipsed by drifting clouds, and met face to face a regiment in full march. The leaders anxiously gazed at each other, hoping to encounter friends, but in the gloom their uniforms were undistinguishable. "What regiment is yours?" demanded St. Udo, at last. There was a pause, brief and ominous. "What is yours?" cautiously returned the officer in command. "The--Vermont," said Udo Brand. "Then, in heaven's name, take it! Fire!" commanded the other. A simultaneous flash along; each line distinctly revealed every face, and then the front ranks fell in the windrows under the murderous volley. "Again!" shouted the Confederate leader. Again his men stepped forward, aimed at St. Udo's handful, and again the brave Vermonters melted away like smoke before the wind. Then Colonel Brand gave the orders for retreat, and sullenly took the rear of his diminished band. But the foe pressed close, and a chance shot killed his horse, and a flying pursuer dealt the rider a stunning blow, and left him for dead; and the battle-storm rolled away, and was lost in the distant woods. And when the shrouded moon was shining (three black stripes across its disk) upon the man lying on his broken sword, with his head upon the neck of his pulseless horse, he heard a rustle in the dewy leaves, and footsteps soft and sure approaching, and he raised his dark, dim eyes supplicatingly, for he thought of faithful friends who might be seeking him.