Here is the letter written to me by the magistrates of Bouillon, whose testimony is worthy of respect although they are not noblemen. Tell me whether honour requires that I should return to live in my ancestral castle or whether I should continue to serve King Philip, who has overwhelmed me with favours and has just promoted me to the rank of brigadier-general. I shall leave the letter on the table and withdraw. In half an hour I shall come back and hear your decision.’

Having thus spoken my father did indeed leave the room, and returned in half an hour to hear the verdict. He found that five had voted that he should remain in the army and seven had voted that he should go to live in the Ardennes. Without demur my father accepted the majority verdict.

My mother would have preferred to stay in Spain, but she was so devoted to her husband that he failed even to notice how averse she was to leaving her native land. At last all that remained to be done was to prepare for the journey and to arrange for the small number of those who were to accompany them to be the representatives of Spain in the Ardennes. Although I had not yet been born my father was sure that I would be, and thought that it was time to arrange for me to have a master-at-arms. His choice fell on Garcías Hierro, the best fencing master in Madrid. This young man, who had had his fill of parrying blows in the Plaza de la Cebada, accepted with alacrity. For her part my mother, not wishing to leave without a chaplain, chose Iñigo Vélez, a theology graduate from Cuenca. He was later to instruct me in the Catholic religion and the Spanish language. All these arrangements for my education were made a year and a half before my birth.

When my father was ready to depart, he went to take leave of the king and in accordance with Spanish custom he knelt on one knee to kiss his monarch’s hand. But he found this so upsetting that he fainted and had to be carried back to his house. The next day he went to take leave of Don Fernando de Lara, who was then prime minister. This gentleman received him with great respect and informed him that the king had granted him a pension of 12,000 reals and the rank of sargento-general, which is the same as major-general. My father would have given half his life’s blood to satisfy his desire to kneel again before his royal master, but as he had already taken leave, he confined himself to expressing his heartfelt feelings in a letter. Eventually he left Madrid, having shed many a tear.

My father chose to pass through Catalonia so that he could again visit the lands over which he had fought and bid farewell to some of his former companions in arms who held commands on the frontier. He then entered France by way of Perpignan.

As far as Lyon his journey was not troubled by any untoward incident. But on leaving that town with his post horses he was overtaken by a chaise which, being lighter, arrived at the post house before him. Reaching there a few minutes later, my father noted that the horses were already being harnessed to the carriage. He at once took up his sword and, going up to the traveller, asked him for the honour of a brief conversation. The traveller, who was a colonel in the French army, saw that my father was wearing the uniform of a general officer and also took up his sword out of respect for his rank. They went into the inn, which was across the road from the post house, and asked for a room.

When they were alone my father said to the traveller, ‘Señor, your carriage overtook mine and arrived at the post house before me. This act, which does not itself constitute an insult, none the less has something disobliging about it for which I feel obliged to ask you for an explanation.’

The colonel was very taken aback by this and placed the blame on his postilions, assuring my father that he had no part in it.

‘Señor caballero,’ continued my father, ‘I also do not wish to make anything serious of this. And so I shall be satisfied by first blood.’ In saying this he drew his sword.

‘One moment,’ said the Frenchman. ‘It seems to me that it was not my postilions who overtook yours but rather yours who by lingering fell behind mine.’

My father thought about this for a moment and then said to the colonel, ‘Señor, I think you are quite right. If you had made this observation to me earlier, before I had drawn my sword, I think we would not have had to fight each other. But you must realize that now things have gone this far some blood must be drawn.’

The colonel, who probably thought this last argument good enough, also drew his sword. The duel did not last long.