The colonel in command of our outposts at St. Antoine sent this man to my father with the message that he was a Venetian spy and he believed he carried important intelligence. The man's replies were astonishing. He was in the Austrian service, and one of the garrison of Mantua, which town he had left on account of a love affair; he was just returning when he was challenged and arrested by the sentinel, who had heard the noise of his footsteps on the frozen snow. Although he was searched all over, nothing was found on him. But, in spite of the apparent frankness of his answers and his ease of manner during his examination, my father thought he detected certain quick glances, certain nervous twitches, which denoted a man who was not quite sure of his ground. Moreover, the word "spy" when used before him confused him, and made the reasons he gave for his going out and returning hard to believe. Furthermore, when a general is watching' a town of the importance of Mantua, and hopes he has caught hold of a spy, he does not easily renounce his hopes. But there seemed nothing further to be said: the man's pockets were perfectly empty, and his replies mathematically precise. Favourite books of my father's were Polybius and Cæsar's _Commentaries._ A volume of the _Commentaries_ of the conqueror of Gaul lay open on the table near his bed, and the passage my father had just been re-reading before going to sleep was where Cæsar relates how, in order to pass his lieutenant through to Labienus with valuable information, he had enclosed his letter in a little ivory ball about the size of a child's toy; how the messenger when he came to the enemy's pickets, or to any place where he feared being taken prisoner, was to carry the ball in his mouth, and to swallow it if he were pushed to extremes. This passage from Cæsar flashed across my father's mind as a ray of light. "Very well," said my father; "since this man lies, he must be taken out and shot." "What! General," the Venetian exclaimed in terror. "Why am I to be shot?" "To cut open your stomach and find the despatches you have swallowed," said my father with as much certainty as though the matter had been revealed to him by his familiar spirit. The spy trembled. The men hesitated. "Oh! it is not a joke," said my father to the soldiers who had taken the prisoner; "if you wish it, I will give you a written order." "No, General," replied the soldiers; "if you are serious--" "Perfectly serious; take him away and shoot him." The soldiers moved forward to lead off the spy. "One moment!" he said, seeing that matters had taken a grave turn. "Will you confess?" "Yes, yes, I confess," said the spy, after a moment's hesitation. "You confess you have swallowed your despatches?" "Yes, General." "And how long ago did you do that?" "About two hours and a half ago, General."