to prevent my joining by stealth the soldiers who left Estagel. It often
happened that they caught me at a league's distance from the village,
already on my way with the troops.

On one occasion these warlike tastes had nearly cost me dear. It was the
night of the battle of Peires-Tortes. The Spanish troops in their
retreat had partly mistaken their road. I was in the square of the
village before daybreak; I saw a brigadier and five troopers come up,
who, at the sight of the tree of liberty, called out, "_Somos
perdidos!_" I ran immediately to the house to arm myself with a lance
which had been left there by a soldier of the _levée en masse_, and
placing myself in ambush at the corner of a street, I struck with a blow
of this weapon the brigadier placed at the head of the party. The wound
was not dangerous; a cut of the sabre, however, was descending to punish
my hardihood, when some countrymen came to my aid, and, armed with
forks, overturned the five cavaliers from their saddles, and made them
prisoners. I was then seven years old.[1]

My father having gone to reside at Perpignan, as treasurer of the mint,
all the family quitted Estagel to follow him there. I was then placed as
an out-door pupil at the municipal college of the town, where I occupied
myself almost exclusively with my literary studies. Our classic authors
had become the objects of my favourite reading. But the direction of my
ideas became changed all at once by a singular circumstance which I will
relate.

Walking one day on the ramparts of the town, I saw an officer of
engineers who was directing the execution of the repairs. This officer,
M. Cressac, was very young; I had the hardihood to approach him, and to
ask him how he had succeeded in so soon wearing an epaulette. "I come