"We soon finished that little job, however, before we had suffered
many privations there. But it proved to be but the opening of a
campaign, which I began, after a time, to think would never come to an
end."

"And, unhappily," said Lady Mabel, "it did not end quite so well as it
promised to do."

"Fortune is a fickle mistress, and fond of showing her character in
war," said the colonel. "Sometimes she favors one party with a run of
luck, then shifts suddenly over to the other side. So with
individuals, only there she is most apt to work at cross purposes. One
pretty fellow deserves to live forever, and gets knocked on the head
in the first skirmish; another deserves to rise, and all his good
service is overlooked or forgotten; another gets praise and promotion
for what he never did, or ought never to have done. Some men have such
luck! There is L'Isle now, who, after being pushed on as fast as money
and family interest could shove him; what next happens to him? Why
just for blundering into a Spanish village, and being nearly taken
with his whole command, he is made a lieutenant-colonel on the spot."

"That is a curious result of such a blunder."

"Curious, but true. This is capital port," interjected the colonel,
emptying his glass. "We drank no such stuff as this during the last
campaign. I would not disgust you with a detail of our privations; but
you must know, Lady Mabel, that during the whole march from Madrid to
Burgos, and thence, in retreat, to Ciudad Rodrigo, I never tasted a
bottle of wine that deserved the name, except one of _Peralta_, of
which I feel bound to make honorable mention. I met with it by great