"Next day, an old Padre of Santarem came with a message from the hidalgo Don Juan Lerma, whose mansion I had spared. The priest had volunteered on this errand of mercy, as no other man in Santarem would venture within the reach of the terrible Aviero, to whom he paid two hundred pillared dollars, and I was conducted to within a few toises of the advanced sentinels of our out-piquets, by Don Julian in person, and we bade each other adieu with a very good grace, but without either tears or regret on my side, as may be well assumed; and so ended my mal-adventure in the wood of Santarem." ---------- The Captain St. Florian concluded his story. "Parbleu!" said he, "how dry my throat is with speaking so long, and I dare say I have tired you to death. But let us have one more bottle of Janette's champagne, and then we shall decamp soberly to look for more adventures. But I must be cautious, being for guard at the chateau to-morrow. You cannot mean to return to Lagny to-night?" "I must; and 't is high time we were off, Captain St. Florian; besides, I see Janette is decidedly sleepy." "Ah! poor girl, yes." "My horse is at an hotel in a street leading from the Champ Elysées." "Ouf! a devil of a way from this. There is a church clock striking five. Nombril de Belzebub, 't is morning!" We hurriedly rose to depart. Janette had fallen fast asleep in the bar, and St. Florian kissed her brow as he passed and deposited the reckoning in her lap. The portière of the cabaret let us out, and we sallied through the street to find my hotel. At the chateau, as the Parisians name the palace, I bade adieu to the captain, and getting forth my horse, rode off. The trumpets of the Austrian cavalry and the English drums were ringing on the early morning wind, as the reveille roused the soldiers of the allied host in their several camps and cantonments. The patrols of the gensd'armes were retiring to their quarters; the sun was coming up in his glory, and ruddily in his morning light, amid the morning smoke of Paris, shone the huge façade of Notre Dame, and the burnished dome of the Hotel des Invalides. Paris, with its tented parks and guarded barriers, was left behind; and I dashed at full gallop along the dusty road that under the shadow of many a vine trellis, and many an apple bower, led to my cantonments at Lagny on the Marne. CHAPTER XXIII THE MAJOR'S STORY. On the Colonel concluding, there arose a contention between our surgeon, Mac Leechy, and the senior major, as to who should tell his story first; for "the steam" was now fairly up; but the matter was adjusted by seniority, like choice of quarters, or having the best bed in a billet, and the right of first mounting a breach, and other little contingencies of a military life. "I was once nearly hanged by Wellington," said the Doctor to tempt us to listen; "for when I first joined the service, it was as an ensign, though I had my diploma of M.D."