At this period of the proceedings, Captain St. Pierre whispered something in the colonel’s ear. It was a corroboration, on his part, that the statement I made was true. The colonel nodded, and thus continued:-- “My friend, St. Pierre, confirms your story. I have had the honour of meeting your countrymen in the field, and they have taught me to respect them. The English are stout and gallant soldiers; and at a soldier’s hands are entitled to that honourable consideration which the brave give and receive from each other. But these brigands with whom you have unhappily associated,--these murdering, dastardly, Spaniards------” “False, by the Virgin!” exclaimed the younger partida of the two: “No dastards, robber!--Look out in yonder court-yard--you’ll see there a few mementos of a Spaniard’s vengeance; and if you lift yon cloak again, you will find, that though he departed somewhat hurriedly, the Empecinado did not forget to leave behind a token that will bring him occasionally to your remembrance.” “The Empecinado!” exclaimed a dozen voices. “Ay, Juan Diez!” was the answer. “Hell and furies! Mount every man; cross the bridge, Captain St. Pierre; surround the cork wood--they may still be lurking there. I’ll give you twenty voltigeurs. Carry them _en croupe_. They will beat the coverts that horsemen cannot enter. Bring back, dead or living, the enemy of the emperor--the murderer of Henri Lefevre!” The guerillas laughed scornfully. “The cork-wood!--Will Juan Diez stay there to listen to the nightingales?” said the younger. The order was instantly obeyed; the horses of the chasseurs resaddled, and, with a dozen picked sharpshooters to scour such portions of the wood as might be impenetrable to the cavalry, Captain St. Pierre rode off to recover a reputation he considered tarnished by his recent failure; and, dead or living, bring back to his commander that dreaded chief, the Empecinado. The preparations for this new expedition consumed nearly half an hour; the Spaniards sullenly resumed their seats; I sunk into sombre meditations; and in short, everybody, captives and captors, appeared superlatively unhappy. It was a relief when the door opened, and Colonel La Coste entered the kitchen of the posada, accompanied by a person who bore the appearance of a civic magistrate. Once more the Spaniards were placed before their judge; and the Alcade, for such the stranger proved, assented silently to all the French commandant decreed. “I know not, nor ask your names--you are rebels to the king, and false to France and your country!” “A lie! by the immortal Judge!” boldly returned the elder partida. “True to Spain, ay, true to the last. Pshaw!--Abridge this mockery. We are doomed--we know it. Speak the sentence, and let the spirit, as it was ever, still be free!”