‘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 towards 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 Masséna, with an assumed gravity. ‘I knew you when you wore a different-looking epaulette 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 Masséna, laughing heartily. ‘That scoundrel was always about our mill, and, I believe, lived by thieving!’ added he, pointing to the dwarf. ‘Every one did a little that way in our village,’ said the dwarf; ‘but none ever profited by his education like yourself.’ If the general and some of the younger officers seemed highly amused at the fellow’s impudence and effrontery, some of the others looked angry and indignant. A few were really well born, and could afford to smile at these recognitions; but many who sprung from an origin even more humble than the general’s could not conceal their angry indignation at the scene. ‘I see that these gentlemen are impatient of our vulgar recollections,’ said Masséna, with a sardonic grin; ‘so now to business, Giorgio. You know the Chiavari road--what is’t like?’ ‘Good enough to look at, but mined in four places.’ The general gave a significant glance at the staff, and bade him go on. ‘The white-coats are strong in that quarter, and have eight guns to bear upon the road, where it passes beneath Monte Ratte.’ ‘Why, I was told that the pass was undefended!’ cried Masséna angrily--‘that a few skirmishers were all that could be seen near it.’ ‘All that could be seen!--so they are; but there are eight twelve-pounder guns in the brushwood, with shot and shell enough to be seen, and felt too.’