"We shall neither want the artillery, nor cavalry, except to cover a retreat," said he; "I trust, if it came to _that_, there will not be many of us to protect; but such are the general's orders, and we have but to obey them." With the great events of that night on my memory, it is strange that I should retain so accurately in my mind, the trivial and slight circumstances, which are as fresh before me as if they had occurred but yesterday. It was about eleven o'clock, of a dark but starry night, not a breath of wind blowing, that passing through a number of gloomy, narrow streets, I suddenly found myself in the court yard of the Balbé Palace. A large marble fountain was playing in the centre, around which several lamps were lighted; by these I could see that the place was crowded with officers, some seated at tables drinking, some smoking, and others lounging up and down in conversation. Huge loaves of black bread, and wicker-covered flasks of country wine formed the entertainment; but even these, to judge from the zest of the guests, were no common delicacies. At the foot of a little marble group, and before a small table, with a map on it, sat General Massena himself, in his gray over-coat, cutting his bread with a case knife, while he talked away to his staff. "These maps are good for nothing, Bressi," cried he. "To look at them, you'd say that every road was practicable for artillery, and every river passable, and you find afterward that all these fine chaussees are by-paths, and the rivulets downright torrents. Who knows the Chiavari road?" "Giorgio knows it well, sir," said the officer addressed, and who was a young Piedmontese from Massena's own village. "Ah, Birbante!" cried the general, "are you here again?" and he turned laughingly toward a little bandy-legged monster, of less than three feet high, who, with a cap stuck jauntily on one side of his head, and a wooden sword at his side, stepped forward with all the confidence of an equal. "Ay, here I am," said he, raising his hand to his cap, soldier fashion; "there was nothing else for it but this trade," and he placed his hand on the hilt of his wooden weapon; "you cut down all the mulberries, and left us no silkworms; you burned all the olives, and left us no oil; you trampled down our maize-crops and our vines. Per Baccho! the only thing left was to turn brigand like yourself, and see what would come of it." "Is he not cool to talk thus to a general at the head of his staff?" said Massena, with an assumed gravity. "I knew you when you wore a different-looking epaulet than that there," said Giorgio, "and when you carried one of your father's meal-sacks on your shoulder, instead of all that bravery." "Parbleu! so he did," cried Massena, laughing heartily. "That scoundrel was always about our mill, and, I believe, lived by thieving!" added he, pointing to the dwarf.