“Do you, Messieurs, detect a flaw in these arguments?” Both shook their heads. “Bien!” said the major of Portuguese Cacadores. “Then we reach one or two only possible conclusions: either these rumours of a policy of devastation which have reached the Prince of Esslingen are as utterly false as he believes them to be, or--” “To my cost I know them to be true, as I have already told you,” Samoval interrupted bitterly. “Or,” the major persisted, raising a hand to restrain the Count, “or there is something further that has not been yet discovered--a mystery the enucleation of which will shed light upon all the rest. Since you assure me, Monsieur le Comte, that milord Wellington’s policy is beyond doubt, as reported to Monsieur, le Marechal, it but remains to address ourselves to the discovery of the mystery underlying it. What conclusions have you reached? You, Monsieur de Samoval, have had exceptional opportunities of observation, I understand.” “I am afraid my opportunities have been none so exceptional as you suppose,” replied Samoval, with a dubious shake of his sleek, dark head. “At one time I founded great hopes in Lady O’Moy. But Lady O’Moy is a fool, and does not enjoy her husband’s confidence in official matters. What she knows I know. Unfortunately it does not amount to very much. One conclusion, however, I have reached: Wellington is preparing in Portugal a snare for Massena’s army.” “A snare? Hum!” The major pursed his full lips into a smile of scorn. “There cannot be a trap with two exits, my friend. Massena enters Portugal at Almeida and marches to Lisbon and the open sea. He may be inconvenienced or hampered in his march; but its goal is certain. Where, then, can lie the snare? Your theory presupposes an impassable barrier to arrest the French when they are deep in the country and an overwhelming force to cut off their retreat when that barrier is reached. The overwhelming force does not exist and cannot be manufactured; as for the barrier, no barrier that it lies within human power to construct lies beyond French power to over-stride.” “I should not make too sure of that,” Samoval warned him. “And you have overlooked something.” The major glanced at the Count sharply and without satisfaction. He accounted himself--trained as he had been under the very eye of the great Emperor--of some force in strategy and tactics, a player too well versed in the game to overlook the possible moves of an opponent. “Ha!” he said, with the ghost of a sneer. “For instance, Monsieur le Comte?” “The overwhelming force exists,” said Samoval. “Where is it then? Whence has it been created? If you refer to the united British and Portuguese troops, you will be good enough to bear in mind that they will be retreating before the Prince. They cannot at once be before and behind him.” The man’s cool assurance and cooler contempt of Samoval’s views stung the Count into some sharpness.