"_Diablement!_" muttered the Frenchman, rubbing his sore bones. "Come, to horse. Get into your saddle, and without delay. Do not imagine I will parley here long enough to permit your cunning old comrade to bring up the light dragoons to your rescue." The Gaul still delayed to move, declaring that so severe were his bruises, he was unable to rise. "Monsieur," said Ronald sternly, placing his hand in his basket-hilt, "I believe you not; ’tis a mere trick! And if you do not instantly mount, I shall be tempted to try if that iron harness of yours is proof against a stab from such a blade as this." Thus angrily urged, the cuirassier with a sullen look, and some trouble evidently, mounted his horse, gave his parole of honour, and tossing the flints from his pistols, threw away with a curse his empty scabbard, and prepared to follow his captor, who inquired about his hurts and bruises with a frank kindness, to which the other replied by cold and haughty monosyllables; and his displeasure appeared to increase, when Ronald, instead of continuing on the Truxillo road, struck at once across the country to make a detour, thus cutting off any chance which the Frenchman had of being rescued by the chasseurs, should his companion bring them back for that purpose. Stuart was secretly well pleased at the capture he had made, and doubted not that the French capitan would make a very timely peace-offering to Cameron, who would be the reverse of well-pleased at his long absence. "Cheer up, Monsieur de Mesmai,—I think your friend named you De Mesmai," said he; "there is no use in being cast down about this _malheur_. Such happen daily to our brothers in arms, on both sides. And it is a wonder our cases are not reversed, when my opponent was so accomplished a chevalier." De Mesmai twirled his black moustaches, shrugged his shoulders till his epaulets touched his ears, and made no reply,—but gave an anxious glance behind them. "’Tis no use looking for your friend and his _chasseurs_; they will scarcely find us, since we are so far from the main road. So, I pray you, give yourself no further concern about them." To this taunting injunction, the Frenchman answered only by a stern military frown. He was a man above forty years of age, and his figure was a model of combined strength and symmetry. Exposure to the sun had turned the hue of his face to something between deep red and dark brown,—the former was particularly apparent in a deep scar across the cheek, which he endeavoured to hide by the curl of his moustache. He appeared to view his captor with any feeling but a friendly one; indeed it was galling, that an accomplished cavalry officer like himself should have been unhorsed and compelled to surrender by one whom he regarded as a raw soldier,—a mere stripling; but, as his head had good reason to know, a very stout one.