Occasionally, however, Napoleon himself was outwitted by the cunning of the villains in his employment. Wirion's successor at Verdun, Colonel Courcelles, a less daring but more clever scoundrel, found favour with the Emperor by a very simple expedient. He had lost one of his legs in _partie de chasse_, a loss which gave him the valuable air of a gallant veteran, and of which he knew how to take the best advantage. Passing through Verdun to join his army, the Emperor spied the apparently maimed hero, and at once honoured him with a special notice. "_Monsieur le Colonel_" he inquired with a note of respect, "_où avez-vous perdu la jambe?_" Courcelles, sufficiently quick-witted to convey the impression he desired without risking the utterance of any lie, replied truthfully: "_Sire, j'étais à la bataille de Marengo!_" Courcelles succeeded in robbing the prisoners who were in his charge in a more cautious manner than his predecessor; he, in short, contrived to subtract something for himself from any remittances which reached them, and paid them francs for livres. But if in many instances the prisoners suffered at the hands of the French authorities, on one occasion the position was reversed, and a French commandant became the victim of a prisoner's cunning. The hero of this incident was Lord Blayney, the Irishman before referred to. A certain General Cox, formerly Governor of Almeida, owned a very nice little Andalusian horse, Sancho, which had distinguished itself as one of the first racers in Verdun. Lord Blayney offered a challenge for Sancho to run against a horse which he promised to produce for the event, and his bet was accepted with alacrity. He thereupon sent to an Englishman who was in young Talleyrand's service, and who was a recognised connoisseur in horseflesh, instructing this man to send him a particular English race- horse which had formerly figured at Verdun, and in the capabilities of which Lord Blayney still apparently had confidence, although it was now pretty well advanced in years. Nevertheless, when the animal reached Lord Blayney's stables, sundry alterations were made in its appearance which would prevent its being recognised as an old acquaintance by those who had seen it formerly; and thus when the date for the race arrived, an unknown beast entered the lists against Sancho. It was soon patent to all that the age of this competitor made its chance of success but small; and, in fact, General Cox's fleet little horse won in a canter. Everyone laughed loudly at Lord Blayney's folly in imagining that so obviously incompetent an animal could run against the beautiful little racer Sancho; only Lord Blayney himself seemed stupidly surprised at his own failure. None the less, he bore his loss with amiability, and as he had previously invited his antagonists to dine with him that night he did not omit to make them welcome.