Masséna now turned to the officers near him, and conversed with them eagerly for some time. The debated point I subsequently heard was how to make a feint attack on the Chiavari road, to mask the _coup de main_ intended for the Monte Faccio. To give the false attack any colour of reality, required a larger force and greater preparation than they could afford, and this was now the great difficulty. At last it was resolved that this should be a mere demonstration, not to push far beyond the walls, but, by all the semblance of a serious advance, to attract as much attention as possible from the enemy. Another and a greater embarrassment lay in the fact, that the troops intended for the _coup de main_ had no other exit than the gate which led to Chiavari, so that the two lines of march would intersect and interfere with each other. Could we even have passed out our tirailleurs in advance, the support would easily follow; but the enemy would, of course, notice the direction our advance would take, and our object be immediately detected. ‘Why not pass the skirmishers out by the embrasures, to the left yonder,’ said I; ‘I see many a track where men have gone already.’ ‘It is steep as a wall,’ cried one. ‘And there’s a breast of rock in front that no foot could scale.’ ‘You have at least a thousand feet of precipice above you, when you reach the glen, if ever you do reach it alive.’ ‘And this to be done in the darkness of a night!’ Such were the discouraging comments which rattled, quick as musketry, around me. ‘The lieutenant’s right, nevertheless,’ said Giorgio. ‘Half the voltigeurs of the garrison know the path well already; and as to darkness--if there were a moon you dared not attempt it.’ ‘There’s some truth in that,’ observed an old major. ‘Could you promise to guide them, Giorgio?’ said Masséna. ‘Yes, every step of the way--up to the very walls of the fort.’ ‘There, then,’ cried the general, ‘one great difficulty is got over already.* ‘Not so fast, _générale mio_,’ said the dwarf; ‘I said I could, but I never said that I would.’ ‘Not for a liberal present, Giorgio; not if I filled that leather pouch of yours with five-franc pieces, man?’ ‘I might not live to spend it, and I care little for my next of kin,’ said the dwarf dryly. ‘I don’t think that we need his services, general,’ said I; ‘I saw the place this evening, and however steep it seems from the walls, the descent is practicable enough--at least I am certain that our tirailleurs, in the Black Forest, would never have hesitated about it.’ I little knew that when I uttered this speech I had sent a shot into the very heart of the magazine, the ruling passion of Masséna’s mind being an almost insane jealousy of Moreau’s military fame--his famous campaign of Southern Germany, and his wonderful retreat upon the Rhine, being regarded as achievements of the highest order.