'It is a rich language,' said he, 'but less prolific in rhymes than
either the German or the English. That is why our best work has been
done in blank verse, a form of composition which is capable of reaching
great heights. But I fear that such subjects are somewhat outside the
range of a hussar.'

I was about to answer that if they were good enough for a guerilla, they
could not be too much for the light cavalry, but he was already stooping
over his half-finished verse. Presently he threw down the pen with an
exclamation of satisfaction, and declaimed a few lines which drew a cry
of approval from the three ruffians who held me. His broad face blushed
like a young girl who receives her first compliment.

'The critics are in my favour, it appears,' said he; 'we amuse ourselves
in our long evenings by singing our own ballads, you understand. I have
some little facility in that direction, and I do not at all despair of
seeing some of my poor efforts in print before long, and with "Madrid"
upon the title-page, too. But we must get back to business. May I ask
what your name is?'

'Etienne Gerard.'

'Rank?'

'Colonel.'

'Corps?'

'The Third Hussars of Conflans.'