"That the French are in retreat,--Massena in retreat, my lad."

A tremendous cheer at this instant burst from the hundreds in the
_salon_, who now heard the glorious tidings. Another cheer and another
followed,--ten thousand _vivas_ rose amidst the crash of the band, as it
broke into a patriotic war chant. Such a scene of enthusiasm and excitement
I never witnessed. Some wept with joy. Others threw themselves into their
friends' arms.

"They're all mad, every mother's son of them!" said Maurice Quill, as he
elbowed his way through the mass; "and here's an old vestal won't leave my
arm. She has already embraced me three times, and we've finished a flask of
Malaga between us."

"Come, O'Malley, are you ready for the road?"

My horse was by this time standing saddled at the front. I sprang at once
to the saddle, and without waiting for a second order, set out for Lisbon.
Ten minutes had scarce elapsed,--the very shouts of joy of the delighted
city were still ringing in my ears,--when I was once again back at the
villa. As I mounted the steps into the hall, a carriage drew up,--it was
Sir George Dashwood's. He came forward, his daughter leaning upon his arm.

"Why, O'Malley, I thought you had gone."

"I have returned, Sir George. Colonel Brotherton is in waiting, and the
staff also. I have received orders to set out for Benejos, where the 14th
are stationed, and have merely delayed to say adieu."

"Adieu, my dear boy, and God bless you!" said the warm-hearted old man, as