“Well, Lieutenant-General,--to what happy chance do we owe the pleasure of seeing you here?” “War, boy,--the old story. But we shall have time enough to talk over these things; and I see we are detaining the countess.” So saying, the general gave his arm to madame, and led the way towards the dinner; whither we followed,--I in a state of surprise and astonishment that left me unable to collect my faculties for a considerable time after. Although the party, with the exception of Bubbleton, were French, he himself, as was his wont, supported nearly the whole of the conversation; and if his French was none of the most accurate, he amply made up in volubility for all accidents of grammar. It appeared that he had been three years at Verdun, a prisoner; though how he came there, whence, and at what exact period, there was no discovering. And now his arrival at Paris was an event equally shrouded in mystery, for no negotiations had been opened for his exchange whatsoever; but he had had the eloquence to persuade the préfet that the omission was a mere accident,--some blunder of the War-Office people, which he would rectify on his arrival at Paris. And there he was, though with what prospect of reaching England none but one of his inventive genius could possibly guess. He was brimful of politics, ministerial secrets, state news, and Government intentions, not only as regarded England, but Austria and Russia: and communicated in deep confidence a grand scheme by which the Fox ministry were to immortalize themselves,--which was by giving up Malta to the Bourbons, Louis the Eighteenth to be king, Goza to be a kind of dependency to be governed by a lieutenant-general whom “he would not name;” finishing his glass with an ominous look as he spoke. Thence he wandered on to his repugnance to state, and dislike to any government, function,--illustrating his quiet tastes and simple habits by recounting a career of Oriental luxury in which he described himself as living for years past; every word he spoke, whatever the impression on others, bringing me back most forcibly to my boyish days in the old barrack, where first I met him. Years had but cultivated his talents; his visions were bolder and more daring than ever; while he had chastened down his hurried and excited tone of narrative to a quiet flow of unexaggerated description, which, taking his age and appearance into account, it was difficult to discredit. Whether the Frenchmen really gave credit to his revelations, or only from politeness affected to do it at first, I cannot say, but assuredly he put all their courtesy to a rude test by a little anecdote before he left the dinner-room. While speaking of the memorable siege of Valenciennes in '93, at which one of the French officers was present and in a high command, Bubbleton at once launched forth into some very singular anecdotes of the campaign, where, as he alleged, he also had served.