About four o’clock in the afternoon (an early hour in 1813) dinner was announced, and Lisle was ushered into an ancient hall, roofed with oak and floored with stone, but in no way very magnificent. There he was received by the duke and his daughter, Virginia, who, having heard of her _friend’s_ arrival, was dressed with unusual care to receive him; her woman had been occupied two good hours in arranging the massive braids of her glossy hair in a way to please their coquettish owner. A few officers of the French regiment were present, and Louis could have dispensed with their presence very well. He felt jealous at the very sight of them, as they were all handsome fellows, chevaliers of the Legion and many other orders. Besides, a Frenchman makes love as no other man does, and a douce Scot is certainly no match for him in volubility of words and laughter. There was a Spaniard present, who, although not greatly gifted with personal attractions, appeared to pay so much attention to Virginia, that Lisle cursed him in his heart for his impudence, and began to form plans for calling him to a severe account for his presumption. Like the duke, this unworthy hidalgo was a renegade, and had been created by Joseph Buonaparte Count of Aranjuez, and Colmenare de Orija, and knight of the Stole,—an ancient order instituted by the kings of Arragon. He greeted Lisle coldly enough. They had met before at Aranjuez, where he bore the name of Felix Joaquin, of the order of Calatrava; for true Spaniards refused to acknowledge the titles he bore from the usurper’s hand. The donna behaved with the same affability to him as to the other guests, being unwilling to let him perceive that she understood his attentions; but the delight of Louis at again beholding her and conversing with her, was clouded by chagrin and anger. He soon became aware that the open and intrusive attentions of the _ci-devant_ condé were licensed by the approbation of the old duke. The dinner passed over quietly enough. Military matters were avoided by all but one little Gascon major, who found it impossible to refrain from detailing to Lisle, with evident exultation, an account of Soult’s forcing the passes of Maya and Roncesvalles on the 25th July,—affairs from which, if the numerical force on each side is considered, but very little honour accrues to France. Encouraged by the applause of his own officers, who were evidently quizzing him, the little Gascon entertained the company with an account of his own particular exploits at Maya, where, by his own tale, he had three horses shot under him. One anecdote did not fail to interest Lisle. He stated, that on a party of a Scots regiment, (_sans culottes_,) who hurled large stones on the 105th, he took terrible vengeance, by mounting the rock, which they possessed, and putting them to death with his own hand! "_Sacre!_" said he, as he concluded, "_Sauve qui peut_ was the word; but not one of the fierce _sans culottes_ escaped!"