The three French officers at the head of the troop burst into a laugh.

“Monsieur,” the one who had first spoken said, now in his native tongue, “we are indebted to you, for you have made us laugh, and heaven knows we have had little enough to laugh at today.  But how came you here?  Your cavalry have taken the upper road.  We were drawn up to make a last charge, when we heard them turn off that way; and were, I can tell you, glad enough to get off without more fighting.  We have had enough of it for one day.”

As the speaker proceeded, Rupert became more and more convinced that he knew the voice; and the fact that the speaker was acquainted with English, the more convinced him that he was right.

“I stopped to get rid of a stone in my horse’s hoof,” he said.  “If I had only had a fight for it I should not have minded, but not even to have the pleasure of exchanging a pass or two with one of you gentlemen is hard indeed.”

“It is just as well that you did not,” one of the officers said, “for Monsieur le Marquis de Pignerolles is probably the best swordsman in our army.”

“The Marquis de Pignerolles,” Rupert said, courteously; “it would have been a pleasure to have crossed swords with him, but scarcely fair, for he knows already that he is not a match for me.”

“What!” exclaimed the marquis himself and the two officers, in astonishment.

“You are pleased to joke, sir,” the marquis said haughtily.

“Not at all,” Rupert said, gravely.  “You have met two persons who were your match.  You remember Monsieur Dalboy?”

“Dalboy!” the marquis said.  “Surely, surely, le Maitre Dalboy, yet—?”

“No, I am assuredly not Monsieur Dalboy,” Rupert said.  “And the other?”

The marquis reined in his horse suddenly.

“What!” he said, “you are—?”

“Rupert Holliday, my dear Monsieur Dessin.”

“My dear, dear lad,” the marquis exclaimed.  “What pleasure!  What delight!” and drawing his horse by the side of Rupert he embraced him with affection.

“My friends,” he said to the other officers, who were naturally astonished at this sudden recognition between their prisoner and their colonel, “gentlemen, this English officer is my very dear friend.  What kindness have I not received from his grandfather during my time of exile!  While to himself I am deeply indebted.

“What a fortunate chance, that if you were to have the bad luck to be made prisoner, you should fall into my hands of all men.  I wish that I could let you go, but you know—­”

“Of course, of course,” Rupert said.  “Really I am hardly sorry, since it has brought us together again.”

“Did you recognize my name?” the marquis said.

“No indeed,” Rupert answered.  “The letter which, we doubted not, that you wrote to my grandfather, never came to hand, and we never knew what Monsieur Dessin’s real name was, so that Colonel Holliday did not know to whom to write in France.”