I hope that some readers may possibly be interested in these little tales of the Napoleonic soldiers to the extent of following them up to the springs from which they flow. The age was rich in military material, some of it the most human and the most picturesque that I have ever read.
oken his neck."
"Not I. He has only fainted. The better for him if he never came out of it again."
I felt a hand within my tunic.
"Matteo is right," said a voice. "His heart beats like a hammer. Let him lie and he will soon find his senses."
I waited for a minute or so and then I ventured to take a stealthy peep from between my lashes. At first I could see nothing, for I had been so long in darkness and it was but a dim light in which I found myself. Soon, however, I made out that a high and vaulted ceiling covered with painted gods and goddesses was arching over my head. This was no mean den of cut-throats into which I had been carried, but it must be the hall of some Venetian palace. Then, without movement, very slowly and stealthily I had a peep at the men who surrounded me. There was the gondolier, a swart, hard-faced, murderous ruffian, and beside him were three other men, one of them a little, twisted fellow with an air of authority and several keys in his hand, the other two
A well done, fun read
An absolute joy to read - the bravado, pride and single-minded memories of Brigadier Étienne Gerard related to us as if we are sitting at his table sipping latte are timeless.
I have just one word to describe this book : unputdownable!