“‘Heaven forbid, _pauvre diable!_’ he answered with a laugh--‘No, no--Wert thou a spy--three dips in a Dutch canal, with the mercury below the freezing point, would be punishment enough. I have tonight the outpost duty--I’ll pass you--and should you encounter some wandering Englishman, repay the debt!’ He then left the room; I followed--he saw me across a bridge where the outlying picket lay--and in an hour, I found myself once more with my regiment. Is it not singular that his name was similar to yours?--and that, three days afterwards, I met him in the streets of Tyle, bayonet to bayonet? The headlong charge of the British grenadiers overpowered us; but I heard, with unfeigned regret, that my gallant friend and host had been severely wounded, and lost an arm. “Well, my son, when fortune turned against your countrymen, often and fervently I prayed, that should more misfortunes overtake Colonel O’Halloran, some good chance might place him in the hands of his grateful enemy, Corporal La Coste.--have you ever heard of such a person--a man of my own time of life, ay--old enough to be your father?” “In the latter observation, my dear Colonel, you are perfectly correct, as the gentleman in question stands precisely in that relation to me. Well--it is strange enough, that you were indebted for a supper to the parent, and repaid it with a breakfast to the son!” In a moment the old republican folded me in his arms. “Welcome,” he said, “son of a brave and generous enemy! May your career, my child, be as gallant but more fortunate than your father’s; and may you return to your native land with a well-won reputation, to cheer the winter of the old man’s age--I once hoped the same from thee, Henri!” He looked for a moment to the corner of the chamber where the dead chasseur was laid--a tear trickled down his cheek--he brushed it hastily away--then rose and crossed over to the casement, to conceal emotions of a softer nature, which, in his stern estimate of a soldier’s character, he considered unworthy of its dignity. In a few minutes he recovered his composure, and was ready to receive the report of Captain St. Pierre--who had just returned to the village, after an unsuccessful effort to discover the retreat of the dreaded guerilla. The captain of the chasseurs announced the failure of the expedition in terms that showed how deeply its want of success had mortified him. “We scoured the woods,” he said; “we searched every hovel for a league around us; questioned every peasant that we met, and used threats and promises in vain: and we are back, Colonel La Coste--the men worn out, the horses wearied--and we could neither find a trace, nor glean the slightest intelligence of the murdering brigand, who, for this time, has unfortunately eluded detection.”