"And so Monsieur de Mesmai is your name?" observed Stuart, endeavouring to lead him into conversation. "Surely, I have heard it before." "’Tis not unlikely, monsieur. I am pretty well known on both sides of the Pyrenees; and permit me to acquaint you, that it was no common feat of yours to unhorse me as you did to-day. But as for my name, it has made a noise in the public journals once or twice. You may have heard it at Almarez,—I commanded in the tower of Ragusa." "I now remember; but it was not very kind of you to cut the pontoon, and thus destroy the retreat of D’Estouville and his soldiers." "Charity begins at home. You know that vulgar adage,—strictly English I believe it is," retorted the cuirassier haughtily. "_Sacre bleu!_ ’tis something new for a French officer to be schooled by a British, in the rules of military honour." "Nothing new in the least, sir!" retorted the other in the same tone of pique. "Military honour! What think you of the poisoned balls, which our troops say yours use so freely?" "_Sacre nom de Dieu!_" exclaimed the cuirassier hoarsely, while his cheek grew absolutely purple; "’tis false, monsieur; I tell you ’tis false! ’Tis a lie of the base mercenary German Legion, or the rascally Portuguese. Surely British soldiers would never say so of Frenchmen? Think you, monsieur, that we, whose bayonets have flashed at Austerlitz and Jena,—think you, that we now would have recourse to means so foul? _Sacre!_ to poison our bullets like the cowardly Indians,—and now, at this time, when under Heaven and the great Emperor’s guidance the rustle of the banners of France have shaken the world to its centre? I trow not!" "It has been rumoured by our soldiers, however; but I rely too much on the honour of Frenchmen to imagine that they would resort to such dastardly means of maiming an enemy."[*] [*] At one time a report was current among the Peninsular troops that the French used poisoned balls; but it was a malicious story, without any foundation. "Monsieur, were we otherwise situated, I would put this matter to the sharper test of cold iron," replied De Mesmai, who was much ruffled at the mention of the poisoned balls; "but a time may yet come, and for the present I accept your apology. As for the story of the poisoned balls, doubtless you are indebted for it to the base Germans—mercenary dogs! whom their beggarly princes and little mightinesses sell by thousands to fight the battles of all nations." "In our service we have a legion of several thousands, and they are excellent troops." "Monsieur, we have many legions. But the German is without chivalry or sentiment, and fitted only for the mere mechanical part of war. They fight for their daily pay: honour they value not; to them ’tis as moonshine in the water, an unsubstantial glitter." "You are severe, Captain De Mesmai."