the old corporal had done, "Was there ever such a war!"

Pierre watched him closely. This was the great Marshal Lannes, the Emperor's right arm, "Ajax " the soldiers called him, the son of a poor mechanic, by his military talents and the fortunes of the Emperor made Marshal of France and Duke of Montebello. The Marshal was well built and of middle size. His gold-embroidered uniform and great boots were stained with mud, across his breast was the red ribbon of the Legion of Honor and the cross hung suspended from his buttonhole. He had thrown his plumed hat on the ground, and his usually open and pleasant countenance, framed by his dark, curly hair and short side whiskers, was now drawn and sad as he sat with one leg crossed, supporting his head on his hand, absorbed in thought. Suddenly he raised his head and looked at Pierre. "Boy, can you write?" he inquired.

"Yes, Monsieur le Marechal," answered Pierre. How glad he was that the Father Augustin had taught him well!

"Tell one of those men to hold my horse," said the Marshal, pointing to four soldiers of the Grandjean division who were approaching, "and come here." Pierre did as he was ordered.

"What is your name?" asked Lannes.
"Pierre Pasquin, Monsieur le Marechal."
"What regiment?"

"The 115th of the Line."

The Marshal drew out a tablet and handed it to Pierre, who seated himself upon a pile of straw and wrote rapidly as Lannes dictated several orders. As

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he finished, an aide-de-camp rode up. "Well," cried the Marshal as he entered, are the mines ready to blow up the university? Have you seen General Gazan?"

The mines are ready, Monsieur le Marechal," answered the aide-de-camp, "and General Gazan is organizing the attack on the faubourg."

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Pierre recognized the voice and looked quickly up. Oh, Jean!" he cried.

Jean started, a look of surprise, then of anger passed over his face; it was gone in an instant; he smiled and extended his hand. Why, Pierre, what do you do here?"

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"You know him?" inquired the Marshal.

"Yes, sir, he comes from Grenoble, as I do," answered Jean.

Pierre handed the orders to the Marshal, who remarked, as he signed them rapidly, "You write well, young Pasquin." Then he turned to Jean. "Take these at once to Colonel Rogniat and to General Lacoste and rejoin me at headquarters." Jean saluted and rode rapidly away. The Marshal rose, Pierre sprang forward and picked up his hat. "Young man, I thank you for serving me as secretary," said Lannes. He motioned to the voltigeur to bring up his horse, mounted and rode off toward General Gazan's division.

Soon the cannonade began upon the convent adjoining the bridge of the Ebro, and a tremendous explosion of 1600 pounds of powder announced that the university had been blown up. The attack on the faubourg by the Gazan division, led by Marshal Lannes in person, was successful, while the Grandjean division, grumbling no longer, rushed over the ruins

of the university and gained possession of the Boulevard of the Cosso. Thus the main street of Saragossa was in the hands of the French. Before such a succession of disasters the Spaniards gave way, and sent a flag of truce in the name of Palafox to propose terms of capitulation. Marshal Lannes met the envoy near the tete-de-pont of the Huerba and demanded an unconditional surrender, adding that he would blow up the centre of the town on the following day if his terms were not complied with.

Of the 100,000 inhabitants who were in Saragossa at the beginning of the siege, 54,000 had already perished, and the remainder, stricken by fever, were on the verge of starvation. The junta of defense could hold out no longer. On the 21st of February they surrendered the city, and the garrison, passing out of the Portillo gate, laid down their arms and became prisoners of war. And when that crowd of soldiers, peasants, monks, and women, gaunt, ragged, covered with wounds and stained with blood, defiled before the French army and the conquerors rode through the bloody, ruined streets, filled with putrid corpses, they felt there was little in which to glory. Here, at least, the Spaniards had atoned for their cowardice in the field, and maintained against their adversaries a contest memorable in history. It was even as one of her defenders has expressed it, "Saragossa," cried the Spaniard proudly, "has spit in the face of Napoleon!"

CHAPTER V

A Letter For The Emperor

Art thou a friend to Roderick?

—Scott, Lady of the Lake.

THE envoys, who came to the French camp bringing to Lannes the acceptance of his terms of surrender by the junta of defense, were unable to find the Marshal at headquarters. Colonel Rogniat informed them that he had gone toward the Huerba. They made their way slowly through the camp. The soldiers of the Morlot and Grandjean divisions looked at them sternly; at one point they were almost run down by a squadron of the I3th cuirassiers coming to take up position, but, finally, they found the Marshal in the stone hospital opposite the Santa Engracia. He was unattended and busy giving orders to the surgeons for the care of the wounded, who had been brought in after the bloody fight of the 18th.

Pierre, who was helping one of the surgeons carry into the hospital a wounded Pole of the Musnier division, passed near the Marshal and the Spanish envoys. He saw that Lannes was listening to their statements with evident satisfaction, and as he dismissed them he remarked, "You may rely upon my word."

The Marshal came into the hospital just as the surgeon and Pierre were placing the Pole upon a heap of straw.

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'Young Pasquin, I have some work for you," said Lannes. Pierre set down his burden and hurried for

ward. "Come, write," said the Marshal, and he dictated two letters, one to the Emperor at Paris, the other to King Joseph at Madrid.

An aide-de-camp rode up and saluted the Marshal. "Here, Deteau," said Lannes, folding the letter to King Joseph which he had signed, "you are to take this to Madrid at once. Saragossa has capitulated. Where is d'Albuquerque?"

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He is coming, Monsieur le Marechal," replied the aide-de-camp, "I left him near Santa Engracia. Ah! there he is now," he added, as a horseman was seen rapidly crossing the tete-de-pont of the Huerba.

Good," said the Marshal, who was signing the letter to the Emperor. Suddenly Deteau uttered an exclamation and hurried forward. The horse, coming rapidly through the works of the tete-de-pont, had stumbled and thrown his rider. D'Albuquerque struck his head with violence against one of the heavy jagged timbers which covered the ground about the tete-de-pont and lay stunned and bleeding. The aidede-camp, assisted by Pierre and two Poles, raised the wounded man and carried him into the hospital. His head was badly cut and several splinters of wood were sticking in the gashes.

"What a misfortune!" cried the Marshal, stamping his foot impatiently. "D'Albuquerque was to have gone to Paris. You cannot go; you must go to Madrid, you know the road. Marbot is not yet over his wound. This must go to Paris at once."

"Young Pasquin, are you strong enough to ride?"

he asked suddenly, turning to Pierre.

"Then you shall carry my letter to the Baron

Lejeune whom I sent yesterday to Tudela; he will take