At that moment a bugle from Captain Stuart’s post sounded, as if warning Ronald to retire. "A bugle call," said D’Estouville; "the officer commanding the out-picquet has lost his patience." "I must now bid you farewell; we may soon meet again, but in less pleasant circumstances." "Then you _do_ mean to carry Miravete?" said the Frenchman with sudden animation. "I have not said so," replied Ronald coldly. "I merely said we might meet—" "Not unlikely, if your general comes further this way. The forts of Napoleon and Ragusa, covering the bridge of the Tagus at Almarez, and the town of Miravete, defended as they are by the bravest hearts of the old Guard, might bar the passage of Xerxes with his host." "But surely not against the capturers of Badajoz and Ciudad Rodrigo?" said Ronald gently, with a smile. "_Peste! oui_. These were misadventures, and the great Emperor will soon make us amends. There was something wrong in this last affair at Badajoz; yet the soldiers fought well, and Phillipon, their general, is, as we say, _guerrier sans peur et sans reproche_," replied the Frenchman, while a flush of indignant shame crossed his bronzed cheek, and he twisted up his heavy moustache with an air of military pride and ludicrous confusion. Again the bugle sounded from the other side of the river, warning them to part. D’Estouville uncorked his flask, and filling up the stopper, which held about a wine-glass, with brandy, presented it to Ronald, and they drank to each other. The two grenadiers of the Guard, their tambour, the two Highlanders, and the young bugler, were now beckoned to advance, and D’Estouville shared the contents of his flask among them, while they shook hands all round heartily, and regarded each other’s uniform, accoutrements, and bronzed visages with evident curiosity. "We have drunk to the health of your General Hill. _C’est un vieux routier_, as we Frenchmen say," observed D’Estouville, replacing his empty flask. "As for your leader, Monsieur Wellington, I cannot say I admire him: he is not the man to gain the love of the soldier. No medals,—no ribands,—no praise in the grand bulletin,—no crosses like _this_ won under his command. _Vive l’Empereur_! The great Napoleon is the man for these,—the man for a soldier to live and die under. But I must bid you farewell—without returning what you so kindly lent me in the castle of Edinburgh." "I beg you will not mention it." "There is little use in doing so, all the gold I have being on my shoulders. _Nom d’un pape!_ never will I forget your kindness. But I hope your general has no intention of beating up our quarters at Almarez?" "I have not heard that such is his intention," said Ronald, colouring at the equivocal nature of his reply. "We are very comfortable there at present; quite country-quarters, in fact." "How! are you stationed there?"