"The authoritative wave of his hand was enough, and we slunk away with terrible forebodings of the future. A severe reprimand was administered through Bessières; but whether it was that our political opinions had been uttered too freely, or that the First Consul had no wish to see the 24th figure in the forthcoming pageant of his coronation as Emperor, I know not, but on the day following our precious voyage to St. Cloud, we got the route for Genoa, so that was my first and last meeting with our glorious Emperor, whose name I have made a _cri de guerre_ in many a battle and skirmish, and for whom I am ready to die!" he added, with genuine enthusiasm. "Sunset! there goes the gun in Valencia," he exclaimed, as the boom of a cannon pealed through the still air. "The evening is advancing, monsieur, and we must part, unless you will accompany me to Valencia." "Impossible!" said Quentin. "I will gage my word of honour for your safety there and safe-conduct to the mountains," said he, as they issued cautiously from the thicket upon the highway. "I thank you, but I am most anxious to complete my task." "_Tres bien_--so be it; then we part at yonder cypress-tree. Hola! what have we here--a dead horse--the charger of one of my men?" exclaimed Ribeaupierre, as they came suddenly upon a cavalry-horse lying dead, with all his housings and trappings on, by the wayside. "It is the horse of Corporal Raoul, one of the three men who fell in the ambuscade--several bullets have struck the poor nag, and it has galloped here only to bleed to death. Raoul was a devil of a fellow for plunder; I know that he always carried something else than pistols in his holsters--let us see." Unbuttoning the flaps of the holsters, Ribeaupierre drew forth a pistol from each, and these, as they were loaded, he retained; but at the bottom of one holster-pipe he found a canvas bag. "Parbleu, look here! Raoul, poor devil, thought no doubt to spend these among the girls in Paris. Plunder, every sou of it," he added, tumbling among the grass a heap of gold moidores, which are Portuguese coins, each worth twenty-seven shillings sterling. "This is Raoul's share of the sacking of Coimbra, which the Portuguese permitted themselves to make such a hideous bawling about. It was the plunder of the living, so you may as well have a share of it _now_ that it is the spoil of the dead." "Who--I?" said Quentin, hesitating. "Take it--_ma foi!_" "Can I do so?" "I should think so; what--would you leave it here to fall into Spanish hands, or be buried with a dead horse?" said Ribeaupierre, as he rapidly divided the money, which amounted to one hundred and sixty pieces in all. "'Tis eighty moidores each; a sum like that is not to be found often by the wayside." He almost thrust his share into Quentin's pocket, and a few minutes after, they bade each other warmly adieu, with little expectation of ever meeting again.