Le Glorieux, who declared that he had not seen a good rousing fight since the siege of Beauvais, begged to accompany the emperor, and to be allowed to do his full share of fighting, a permission which was granted most willingly. Philibert de Bresse, who had industriously continued his studies, and who had gained the serious attention of the emperor for the first time when he plucked the edelweiss, was now his Majesty's secretary, and also was to accompany him to Italy. But Antoine, at the bidding of the princess, remained in Vienna, where the court was staying at the time and where, under the tuition of a musical monk, he was accomplishing wonders in the realm of melody. Philibert was now eighteen and had attained his full growth. He wished that he was to fight instead of to write, that he could be the soldier in armor and clanking spurs instead of the smooth-haired secretary, for he was young and longed for exciting adventure. But it was worth something to be in the confidence of the emperor, and to travel in his present capacity was better than to remain quietly at court. They were camped near Pistoja, an ancient city at the foot of the Apennines, the headquarters of the emperor being a half-ruined marble palace. Pistoja is to this day rich in ancient sculptures of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, and at that time there was an equestrian statue which stood outside the gates of the old palace, about which clung a strange superstition, which was that occasionally, and when it suited his fancy, the statue had a way of dismounting and wandering about, possibly to rest himself, for several centuries of the same position must prove fatiguing. It was not an especially fine piece of statuary and had not been done by a famous sculptor. In fact, the original of the statue had had it made in order to perpetuate his own memory, but he had lived so long ago that nobody remembered just what he had done, which perhaps were not such wonderful feats after all, for the greatest people are the most modest. It represented a man on a big horse with a long mantle spread well out over the tail of his steed, and it went by the name of _Il Capitano_, the captain, no one knowing or caring just what captain it was. And this captain had thrust himself upon the notice of the emperor's soldiers camped in his neighborhood, as you shall presently see. Coming into the grounds after having taken a message from the emperor to one of the officers, Philibert paused to speak with one of his Majesty's guards. The subject of their conversation was the expected battles of the coming campaign, and the guard said, "I am not afraid of any living man, but I am afraid of the one they call _Il Capitano_." "You mean the statue on horseback over there?" asked Philibert. "I do, sir." "Why should you fear a marble man?" asked the secretary, smiling. The guard lowered his voice. "Because, sir, he gets off his horse and walks about at night."