Four French soldiers appeared to be coming straight towards them, through the middle of a waving field of yellow corn, treading it down in a remorseless manner, that would have put any bluff English farmer or douce gude-man of the Lothians at his wits’ end, had he seen them. It appeared to be a toilsome pathway, as it rose breast-high, and in some places hid them altogether, save the tops of their grenadier caps. On gaining the skirts of the field, they broke their way through the lofty vine-trellis which covered the road like a long green arbour, and could now be perfectly discerned; and as they neared each other, Ronald felt a degree of excitement and pleasure roused within him for which it was not difficult to account, this being his first meeting with the enemy in arms. Two of them were tall French grenadiers in dark great-coats, adorned with large red worsted epaulets, wearing heavy bear-skin caps and hairy knapsacks, and had their bayonets fixed on their long musquets. In front advanced an officer wearing the same sort of cap, and the rich uniform of the old Guard. A little tambour, with his brass drum slung on his back, trotted beside him. "Halt!" exclaimed Ronald, when they were about four hundred yards off. "With ball-cartridge prime and load!" The performance of this action was seen by the strangers. The little tambour beat a long roll on his drum, and the officer, halting his file of grenadiers, displayed a white handkerchief and advanced alone. Ronald did so likewise, and they met at an equal distance from their respective parties. The officer (whose brown cheek bore witness of service) wore the little gold cross that showed he was a _Chevalier de la Legion d’Honneur_, and raising his hand to his grenadier cap in salute, he pulled from the breast of his coat a long sealed despatch. "_Monsieur officier_," said he, "here is a communication from Marshal Soult to General Sir Rowland Hill, which I have the honour to request you will see forwarded." Ronald bowed and took the letter, surprised to hear such pure English spoken by a Frenchman; while the latter unslung a metal flask which hung at his waist-belt, to share its contents in friendship. "_Croix Dieu!_" he exclaimed, starting back with a look of recognition and surprise. "Ah, Monsieur Stuart, _mon ami_, have you forgotten me quite? Do you not remember Victor D’Estouville and the castle of Edinburgh?" Ronald gazed upon him in astonishment. "D’Estouville! is this indeed you?" "I am happy to say it is; who else could it be, monsieur? I was very tired of being a _prisonnier de guerre_ in that gloomy bastile in the Scottish capital; but an exchange of prisoners took place soon after you left it, and now I am again a free man, fighting the battles of the Emperor with the eagle over my brow, and wearing my belted sword. Brave work it is,—but I am as miserable now, as I was then." "Hard fighting and no promotion, perhaps?"