He blinked painfully for a moment or two, and then perceived that he lay within a circle of fierce, grey-coated soldiers, who were putting him a score of questions in a tongue which he felt sure it would take him a year to master.
He endeavoured to say so.
"Ar-r-rh!" exclaimed one of the soldiers, spitting contemptuously, "_C'est un Anglais_." "_Espion!_" "_J'en reponds_." He gave an order, and in a trice Tristram's wrists were strapped together with a handkerchief.

Then he was heaved up on his feet, and a couple of men took him, each by an arm.

They were about to march him off, when a voice hailed them, and up rode a general officer, with two dragoons cantering behind him for escort.
"_Qu'y a-t-il, mes enfants ?_" He had plainly been disturbed by the noise of the firing.
The soldiers murmured, "M.

de Soisson!" and presented arms.
Then they explained matters, and thrust Tristram forward, holding the lantern uncomfortably near his face.
M.de Soisson began an interrogatory in good French.

As the prisoner shook his head, he harked back and repeated his questions in extremely bad English.