The little party by which I was led along made way instantly for the others to pass, and I took no notice of the prince's countenance till some one called us up before him. I then lifted my eyes, and considered him attentively while he spoke to Martigue's page, whom he seemed to have recognised. He was certainly handsome, and there was something commanding in his figure and deportment; but there was a sinister expression about his countenance which was not pleasant, and a peculiarity in his features which, in the course of my whole life, I have only seen in two other men besides himself. It was, that, as long as he remained grave and serious, though somewhat stern, the expression was not so bad; but, the moment that he smiled, it made one's blood run cold. After speaking two words to the page, he turned to me, saying sternly, "Do you know whether the Prince de Condé has escaped from the field?" "Only by death, sir," I replied. "Why," answered the duke, "I saw his great white standard myself, with some thirty or forty men, fly across the upland twenty minutes ago." "The prince, sir," I said, "is dead, depend upon it. I, with my own eyes, saw him murdered." "Murdered!" exclaimed the Duke of Anjou, with that same sort of sinister smile coming over his face. "What call you murder, sweet friend, in such a field as this?" "Shooting a man, sir," I replied, "after he has been received to quarter, and surrendered to honourable gentlemen." "It may be justice, not murder, sir," replied the duke, frowning upon me. "And pray who are you, who are so choice in your expressions!" "My name, sir," I replied, "is De Cerons; and I, too, am a prisoner." "Ha!" cried the duke; "The most insolent varlet in the camp of the rebels. We have heard of your doings." Though I knew it might cost me my life, I could not restrain myself, and I replied, "Not a varlet, sir, but a knight and a French gentleman!" "Take him away, and--" cried the duke; but, before he could finish his sentence, which probably was intended to have been a command to treat me in the same way as the Prince de Condé, the Duke of Montpensier urged his horse forward, and spoke a word or two to the duke in a low tone. "Take him away!" repeated the duke, after listening for a moment. "Put him with that Scotch marauder Stuart, and bring them before me after supper to-night. Yet stay," he continued. "Where, think you, is the Prince de Condé! I would fain see him with my own eyes." "If you go straight towards yon tree," I replied, pointing with my hand, "you will find his body under the bank, unless they have removed it." "Go you, Magnac, and see," said the duke. "I will remain here. There is your man Constureau coming up, Montpensier. He knows the prince, let him go with Magnac. Stand there, sir: we shall soon see whether you speak truth or falsehood."