onthe
little
marble-topped
tables
,
some
reading
the
French
papers
,
all
smoking
their
inseparable
companions
—
the
brûle-gueules
;
—
fine
stalwart
,
sunburnt
fellows
,
with
faces
and
figures
that
the
glowing
colours
of
their
uniform
set
off
to
the
best
advantage
.
"
Loo-Loo
was
in
fine
voice
to-night
,
"
said
one
.
"
Yes
,
she
took
plenty
of
cognac
before
she
sang
;
that
always
clears
her
voice
,
"
said
a
second
.
"
And
I
think
that
did
her
spirits
good
,
shooting
that
Kabyl
,
"
said
a
third
.
"
By
the
way
,
did
he
die
?
"
"
N'sais
pas
,
"
said
the
third
,
with
a
shrug
of
her
shoulders
;
"
Loo-Loo
's
a
good
aim
.
"
"
Sac
à
papier
,
yes
!
Rire-pour-tout
taught
her
.
"
"
Ah
!
There
never
was
a
shot
like
Rire-pour-tout
.
When
he
went
out
,
he
always
asked
his
adversary
,
'
Where
will
you
like
it
?
your
lungs
,
your
heart
,
your
brain
?
It
is
quite
a
matter
of
choice
;
'
—
and
whichever
they
chose
,
he
shot
there
.
Le
pauvre
Rire-pour-tout
!
he
was
always
good-natured
.
"
"
And
did
he
never
meet
his
match
?
"
asked
a
sousofficier
of
the
line
.
The
speaker
looked
down
on
the
piou-piou
with
superb
contempt
,
and
twisted
his
moustaches
.
"
Mon
sieur
!
how
could
he
?
He
was
a
Chasseur
.
"
"
But
if
he
never
met
his
match
,
how
did
he
die
?
"
pursued
the
irreverent
piou-piou
—
a
little
wiry
man
,
black
as
a
berry
,
agile
as
a
monkey
,
tough
and
short
as
a
pipe-stopper
.
The
magnificent
Chasseur
laughed
in
his
splendid
disdain
.
"
A
piou-piou
never
killed
him
,
that
I
promise
you
.
He
spitted
half
a
dozen
of
you
before
breakfast
,
to
give
him
a
relish
.
How
did
Rire-pourtout
die
?
I
will
tell
you
.
"
He
dipped
his
long
moustaches
into
a
beaker
of
still
champagne
:
Claude
,
Vicomte
de
Chanrellon
,
though
in
the
ranks
,
could
afford
those
luxuries
.
"
He
died
this
way
,
did
Rire-pour-tout
!
Dieu
de
Dieu
!
a
very
good
way
to
.
Send
us
all
the
like
when
our
time
comes
!
We
were
out
yonder
"
(
and
he
nodded
his
handsome
head
outward
to
where
the
brown
seared
plateaux
and
the
Kabyl
mountains
lay
)
.
"
We
were
hunting
Arabs
,
of
course
,
—
pot-shooting
rather
,
as
we
never
got
nigh
enough
to
their
main
body
to
have
a
clear
charge
at
them
.
Rire-pour-tout
grew
sick
of
it
.
'
This
wo
n't
do
,
'
he
said
;
'
here
's
two
weeks
gone
by
,
and
I
have
n't
shot
anything
but
kites
and
jackals
.
I
shall
get
my
hand
out
.
'
For
Rire-pour-tout
,
as
the
army
knows
,
somehow
or
other
,
generally
potted
his
man
every
day
,
and
he
missed
it
terribly
.
Well
,
what
did
he
do
?
he
rode
off
one
morning
and
found
out
the
Arab
camp
,
and
he
waved
a
white
flag
for
a
parley
.
He
did
n't
dismount
,
but
he
just
faced
the
Arabs
and
spoke
to
their
Sheik
.
'
Things
are
slow
,
'
he
said
to
them
.
'
I
have
come
for
a
little
amusement
.
Set
aside
six
of
your
best
warriors
,
and
I
'll
fight
them
one
after
another
for
the
honour
of
France
,
and
a
drink
of
brandy
to
the
conqueror
.
'
They
demurred
;
they
thought
it
unfair
to
him
to
have
six
to
one
.
'
Ah
!
'
he
laughs
,
'
you
have
heard
of
Rire-pour-tout
,
and
you
are
afraid
!
'
That
put
their
blood
up
:
they
said
they
would
fight
him
before
all
his
Chasseurs
.
'
Come
,
and
welcome
,
'
said
Rire-pour-tout
;
'
and
not
a
hair
of
your
beards
shall
be
touched
except
by
me
.
'
So
the
bargain
was
made
for
an
hour
before
sunset
that
night
.
Mort
de
Dieu
!
that
was
a
grand
duel
!
"
He
dipped
his
long
moustaches
again
into
another
beaker
of
still
.
Talking
was
thirsty
work
;
the
story
was
well
known
in
all
the
African
army
,
but
the
piou-piou
,
having
served
in
China
,
was
new
to
the
soil
.
"
The
General
was
ill-pleased
when
he
heard
it
,
and
half
for
arresting
Rire-pour-tout
;
but
—
sacré
!
—
the
thing
was
done
;
our
honour
was
involved
;
he
had
engaged
to
fight
these
men
,
and
engaged
for
us
to
let
them
go
in
peace
afterwards
;
there
was
no
more
to
be
said
,
unless
we
had
looked
like
cowards
,
or
traitors
,
or
both
.
There
was
a
wide
,
level
plateau
in
front
of
our
camp
,
and
the
hills
were
at
our
backs
—
a
fine
field
for
the
duello
;
—
and
,
true
to
time
,
the
Arabs
filed
on
to
the
plain
,
and
fronted
us
in
a
long
line
,
with
their
standards
,
and
their
crescents
,
and
their
cymbals
,
and
reed-pipes
,
and
kettle-drums
,
all
glittering
and
sounding
.
Sac
à
papier
!
there
was
a
show
,
and
we
could
not
fight
one
of
them
!
We
were
drawn
up
in
line
—
Rire-pour-tout
all
alone
,
some
way
in
advance
,
mounted
,
of
course
.
The
General
and
the
Sheik
had
a
conference
;
then
the
play
began
.
There
were
six
Arabs
picked
out
—
the
flower
of
the
army
—
all
white
and
scarlet
,
and
in
their
handsomest
bravery
,
as
if
they
came
to
an
aouda
.
They
were
fine
men
—
diable
!
—
they
were
fine
men
.
Now
the
duel
was
to
be
with
swords
;
these
had
been
selected
;
and
each
Arab
was
to
come
against
Rire-pour-tout
singly
,
in
succession
.
Our
trumpets
sounded
the
pas
de
charge
,
and
their
cymbals
clashed
;
they
shouted
'
Fantasia
!
'
and
the
first
Arab
rode
at
him
.
Rire-pour-tout
sat
like
a
rock
,
and
lunge
went
his
steel
through
the
Bedouin
's
lung
,
before
you
could
cry
holà
!
—
a
death-stroke
,
of
course
;
Rire-pour-tout
always
killed
:
that
was
his
perfect
science
.
Another
,
and
another
,
and
another
came
,
just
as
fast
as
the
blood
flowed
.
You
know
what
the
Arabs
are
—
vous
autres
?
how
they
wheel
,
and
swerve
,
and
flight
flying
,
and
pick
up
their
sabre
from
the
ground
,
while
their
horse
is
galloping
ventre
à
terre
,
and
pierce
you
here
,
and
pierce
you
there
,
and
circle
round
you
like
so
many
hawks
?
You
know
how
they
fought
Rire-pour-tout
then
,
one
after
another
,
more
like
devils
than
men
.
Mort
de
Dieu
!
it
was
a
magnificent
sight
!
He
was
gashed
here
,
and
gashed
there
;
but
they
they
could
never
unseat
him
,
try
how
they
would
;
and
one
after
another
he
caught
them
sooner
or
later
,
and
sent
them
reeling
out
of
their
saddles
,
till
there
was
a
great
red
lake
of
blood
all
round
him
,
and
five
of
them
lay
dead
or
dying
down
in
the
sand
.
He
had
mounted
afresh
twice
,
three
horses
had
been
killed
underneath
him
,
and
his
jacket
all
hung
in
strips
where
the
steel
had
slashed
it
.
It
was
grand
to
see
,
and
did
one
's
heart
good
;
but
—
ventre-bleu
!
—
how
one
longed
to
go
in
too
.
"
There
was
only
one
left
now
;
a
young
Arab
,
the
Sheik
's
son
,
and
down
he
came
like
the
wind
.
He
thought
with
the
shock
to
unhorse
Rire-pour-tout
,
and
finish
him
then
at
his
leisure
.
You
could
hear
the
crash
as
they
met
like
two
huge
cymbals
smashing
together
.
Their
chargers
bit
and
tore
at
each
other
's
manes
,
they
were
twined
in
together
there
as
if
they
were
but
one
man
and
one
beast
;
they
shook
and
they
swayed
,
and
they
rocked
;
the
sabres
played
about
their
heads
so
quick
that
it
was
like
lightning
as
they
flashed
and
twirled
in
the
sun
;
the
hoofs
trampled
up
the
sand
till
a
yellow
cloud
hid
their
struggle
,
and
out
of
it
,
all
you
could
see
was
the
head
of
a
horse
tossing
up
and
spouting
with
foam
,
or
a
sword-blade
lifted
to
strike
.
Then
the
tawny
cloud
settled
down
a
little
,
the
sand
mist
cleared
away
;
the
Arab
's
saddle
was
empty
,
but
Rire-pour-tout
sat
like
a
rock
.
The
old
Chief
bowed
his
head
.
'
It
is
over
!
Allah
is
great
!
'
And
he
knew
his
son
lay
there
dead
.
Then
we
broke
from
the
ranks
,
and
we
rushed
to
the
place
where
the
chargers
and
men
were
piled
like
so
many
slaughtered
sheep
.
Rire-pour-tout
laughed
such
a
gay
ringing
laugh
as
the
desert
never
had
heard
.
'
Vive
la
France
!
'
he
cried
.
'
And
now
bring
me
my
toss
of
brandy
.
'
Then
down
headlong
out
of
his
stirrups
he
reeled
and
fell
under
his
horse
;
and
when
we
lifted
him
up
there
were
two
broken
sword-blades
buried
in
him
,
and
the
blood
was
pouring
fast
as
water
out
of
thirty
wounds
and
more
.
That
was
how
Rire-pour-tout
died
,
piou-piou
,
laughing
to
the
last
.
Sacre-bleu
!
it
was
a
splendid
end
;
I
wish
I
were
sure
of
the
like
.
"
And
Claude
de
Chanrellon
drank
down
his
third
beaker
,
for
overmuch
speech
made
him
thirsty
.
The
men
around
him
emptied
their
glasses
in
honour
of
the
dead
hero
.
"
Rire-pour-tout
was
a
croc-mitaine
,
"
they
said
solemnly
,
with
almost
a
sigh
,
so
tendering
by
their
words
the
highest
funeral
oration
.
"
You
have
much
of
such
sharp
service
here
,
I
suppose
?
"
asked
a
voice
in
very
pure
French
.
The
speaker
was
leaning
against
the
open
door
of
the
café
;
a
tall
,
lightly
built
man
,
dressed
in
a
velvet
shooting
tunic
,
much
the
worse
for
wind
and
weather
,
a
loose
shirt
,
and
jack-boots
splashed
and
worn
out
.
"
When
we
are
at
it
,
monsieur
,
"
returned
the
Chasseur
.
"
I
only
wish
we
had
more
.
"
"
Of
course
.
Are
you
in
need
of
recruits
?
"
"
They
all
want
to
come
to
us
and
to
the
Zouaves
,
"
smiled
Chanrellon
,
surveying
the
figure
of
the
one
who
addressed
him
with
a
keen
sense
of
its
symmetry
and
its
sinew
.
"
Still
,
a
good
sword
brings
it
welcome
.
Do
you
ask
seriously
,
monsieur
?
"
The
bearded
Arabs
smoking
their
long
pipes
,
the
little
piou-piou
drowning
his
mortification
in
some
curaçoa
,
the
idlers
reading
the
Akbah
or
the
Pressc
,
the
Chasseurs
lounging
over
their
drink
,
the
écarté
players
lost
in
their
game
,
all
looked
up
at
the
new
comer
.
They
thought
he
looked
a
likely
wearer
of
the
dead
honours
of
Rire-pour-tout
.
He
did
not
answer
the
questions
literally
,
but
came
over
from
the
doorway
,
and
seated
himself
at
the
little
marble
table
opposite
Claude
,
leaning
his
elbows
on
it
.
"
I
have
a
doubt
,
"
he
said
.
"
I
am
more
inclined
to
your
foes
.
"
"
Dieu
de
Dieu
!
"
ejaculated
Chanrellon
,
pulling
at
his
tawny
moustaches
.
"
A
bold
thing
to
say
before
five
Chasseurs
.
"
He
smiled
a
little
contemptuously
,
a
little
amusedly
.
"
I
am
not
a
croc-mitaine
,
perhaps
;
but
I
say
what
I
think
,
with
little
heed
of
my
auditors
usually
.
"
Chanrellon
bent
his
bright
brown
eyes
curiously
on
him
.
"
He
is
a
croc-mitaine
,
"
he
thought
.
"
He
is
not
to
be
lost
.
"
"
I
prefer
your
foes
,
"
went
on
the
other
,
quite
quietly
,
quite
listlessly
,
as
though
the
glittering
,
gaslit
café
were
not
full
of
French
soldiers
.
"
In
the
first
place
,
they
are
on
the
losing
side
;
in
the
second
,
they
are
the
lords
of
the
soil
;
in
the
third
,
they
live
as
free
as
air
;
and
in
the
fourth
,
they
have
undoubtedly
the
right
of
the
quarrel
!
"
"
Monsieur
!
"
cried
the
Chasseurs
,
laying
their
hands
on
their
swords
,
fiery
as
lions
.
He
looked
indolently
and
wearily
up
from
under
the
long
lashes
of
his
lids
,
and
went
on
,
as
though
they
had
not
spoken
.
"
I
will
fight
you
all
,
if
you
like
,
as
that
worthy
of
yours
,
Rire-pour-tout
,
did
,
but
I
do
n't
think
it
's
worth
while
,
"
he
said
,
carelessly
,
where
he
leaned
over
the
marble
table
.
"
Brawling
's
bad
style
;
we
do
n't
do
it
.
I
was
saying
,
I
like
your
foes
best
;
mere
matter
of
taste
;
no
need
to
quarrel
over
it
—
that
I
see
.
I
shall
go
into
their
service
,
or
into
yours
,
monsieur
—
will
you
play
a
game
of
dice
to
decide
?
"
"
Decide
?
—
but
how
?
"
"
Why
—
this
way
,
"
said
the
other
,
with
the
weary
listlessness
of
one
who
cares
not
two
straws
how
things
turn
.
"
If
I
win
,
I
go
to
the
Arabs
—
if
you
win
,
I
come
to
your
ranks
.
"
"
Mort
de
Dieu
!
it
is
a
droll
gambling
,
"
murmured
Chanrellon
.
"
But
—
if
you
do
win
,
do
you
think
we
shall
let
you
go
off
to
our
enemies
.
Pas
si
bête
,
monsieur
!
"
"
Yes
,
you
will
,
"
said
the
other
,
quietly
.
"
Men
who
knew
what
honour
meant
enough
to
redeem
Rire-pour-tout
's
pledge
of
safety
to
the
Bedouins
,
will
not
take
advantage
of
an
openly
confessed
and
unarmed
adversary
.
"
A
murmur
of
ratification
ran
through
his
listeners
.
Chanrellon
swore
a
mighty
oath
.
"
Pardieu
!
No.
You
are
right
.
If
you
want
to
go
,
you
shall
go
.
Holà
there
!
bring
the
dice
.
Champagne
,
monsieur
?
Vermout
?
Cognac
?
"
"
Nothing
,
I
thank
you
.
"
He
leant
back
with
an
apathetic
indolence
and
indifference
,
oddly
at
contrast
with
the
injudicious
daring
of
his
war-provoking
words
,
and
the
rough
campaigning
that
he
sought
.
The
assembled
Chasseurs
eyed
him
curiously
;
they
liked
his
manner
,
and
they
resented
his
first
speeches
;
they
noted
every
particular
about
him
,
his
delicate
white
hands
,
his
weather-worn
and
travel-stained
dress
,
his
fair
aristocratic
features
,
his
sweeping
abundant
beard
,
his
careless
,
cool
,
tired
,
reckless
way
;
and
they
were
uncertain
what
to
make
of
him
.
The
dice
were
brought
.
"
What
stakes
,
monsieur
?
"
asked
Chanrellon
.
"
Ten
Napoléons
a
side
—
and
—
the
Arabs
.
"
He
set
ten
Napoléons
down
on
the
table
;
they
were
the
only
coins
he
had
in
the
world
;
it
was
very
characteristic
that
he
risked
them
.
They
threw
the
main
—
two
sixes
.
"
You
see
,
"
he
murmured
,
with
a
half
smile
,
"
the
dice
know
it
is
a
drawn
duel
between
you
and
the
Arabs
.
"
"
C'est
un
drôle
,
c'est
un
brave
!
"
muttered
Chanrellon
;
and
they
threw
again
.
The
Chasseur
cast
a
five
;
his
was
a
five
again
.
"
The
dice
cannot
make
up
their
minds
,
"
said
the
other
,
listlessly
;
"
they
know
you
are
Might
and
the
Arabs
are
Right
.
"
The
Frenchmen
laughed
;
they
could
take
a
jest
good-humouredly
,
and
alone
amidst
so
many
of
them
he
was
made
sacred
at
once
by
the
very
length
of
odds
against
him
.
They
rattled
the
boxes
and
threw
again
—
Chanrellon
's
was
three
;
his
two
.
"
Ah
!
"
he
murmured
.
"
Right
kicks
the
beam
and
loses
;
it
always
does
,
poor
devil
!
"
The
Chasseur
leaned
across
the
table
,
with
his
brown
,
fearless
,
sunny
eyes
full
of
pleasure
.
"
Monsieur
!
never
lament
such
good
fortune
for
France
.
You
belong
to
us
now
;
let
me
claim
you
!
"
He
bowed
more
gravely
than
he
had
borne
himself
hitherto
.
"
You
do
me
much
honour
;
fortune
has
willed
it
so
.
One
word
only
in
stipulation
.
"
Chanrellon
assented
courteously
.
"
As
many
as
you
choose
.
"
"
I
have
a
companion
who
must
be
brigaded
with
me
,
and
I
must
go
on
active
service
at
once
.
"
"
With
infinite
pleasure
.
That
doubtless
can
be
arranged
.
You
shall
present
yourself
to-morrow
morning
;
and
for
to-night
,
this
is
not
the
season
here
yet
,
and
we
are
triste
à
faire
frémir
,
still
I
can
show
you
a
little
fun
,
though
it
is
not
Paris
?
"
But
he
rose
,
and
bowed
again
.
"
I
thank
you
,
not
to-night
.
You
shall
see
me
at
your
barracks
with
the
morning
.
"
"
Ah
,
ah
!
monsieur
!
"
cried
the
Chasseur
,
eagerly
,
and
a
little
annoyed
.
"
What
warrant
have
we
that
you
will
not
dispute
the
decree
of
the
dice
,
and
go
off
to
your
favourites
,
the
Arabs
?
"
He
turned
back
and
looked
full
in
Chanrellon
's
face
,
his
own
eyes
a
little
surprised
,
and
infinitely
weary
.
"
What
warrant
?
My
promise
.
"
Then
,
without
another
syllable
,
he
lounged
slowly
out
through
the
soldiers
and
the
idlers
,
and
disappeared
in
the
confused
,
din
and
chiar'oscuro
of
the
gas-lit
street
without
,
through
the
press
of
troopers
,
grisettes
,
merchants
,
beggars
,
sweetmeat-sellers
,
lemonade-sellers
,
curaçoa-sellers
,
gaunt
Bedouins
,
negro
boys
,
shrieking
muleteers
,
laughing
lorettes
,
and
glittering
staff-officers
.
"
That
is
done
!
"
he
murmured
to
his
own
thoughts
.
"
Now
for
life
under
another
Flag
!
"
Claude
de
Chanrellon
sat
mute
and
amazed
awhile
,
gazing
at
the
open
door
;
then
he
drank
a
fourth
beaker
of
champagne
,
and
flung
the
emptied
glass
down
with
a
mighty
crash
.
"
Ventre-bleu
!
whoever
he
is
,
that
man
will
eat
fire
,
bons
garçons
!
"
CHAPTER
XIV
.
"
DE
PROFUNDIS
"
BEFORE
"
PLUNGING
.
"
Three
months
later
,
it
was
guest-night
in
the
mess-room
of
a
certain
famous
light
cavalry
regiment
,
who
bear
the
reputation
of
being
the
fastest
corps
in
the
English
service
.
Of
a
truth
,
they
do
"
plunge
"
a
little
too
wildly
;
and
stories
are
told
of
bets
over
écarté
in
their
ante-room
that
have
been
prompt
extinction
for
ever
and
aye
to
the
losers
,
for
they
rarely
play
money
down
,
their
stakes
are
too
high
,
and
moderate
fortunes
may
go
in
a
night
with
the
other
convenient
but
fatal
system
.
But
,
this
one
indiscretion
apart
,
they
are
a
model
corps
for
blood
,
for
dash
,
for
perfect
social
accord
,
for
the
finest
horseflesh
in
the
kingdom
,
and
the
best
president
at
a
mess-table
that
ever
drilled
the
cook
to
matchlessness
,
and
made
the
iced
dry
,
and
the
old
burgundies
the
admired
of
all
new
comers
.
Just
now
they
had
pleasant
quarters
enough
in
York
,
had
a
couple
of
hundred
hunters
,
all
in
all
,
in
their
stalls
,
were
showing
the
Ridings
that
they
could
"
go
like
birds
,
"
and
were
using
up
their
second
horses
with
every
day
out
,
in
the
first
of
the
season
.
A
cracker
over
the
best
of
the
ground
with
the
York
and
Ainsty
,
that
had
given
two
first-rate
things
quick
as
lightning
,
and
both
closed
with
a
kill
,
had
filled
the
day
;
and
they
were
dining
with
a
fair
quantity
of
county
guests
,
and
all
the
splendour
of
plate
,
and
ceremony
,
and
magnificent
hospitalities
which
characterise
those
beaux
sabreurs
wheresoever
they
go
.
At
one
part
of
the
table
a
discussion
was
going
on
as
the
claret
passed
around
;
wines
were
perfection
at
the
mess
,
but
they
drank
singularly
little
;
it
was
not
their
"
form
"
ever
to
indulge
in
that
way
;
and
the
Chief
,
though
lenient
to
looseness
in
all
other
matters
,
and
very
young
for
his
command
,
would
have
been
down
like
steel
on
"
the
boys
,
"
had
any
of
them
taken
to
the
pastime
of
overmuch
drinking
in
any
shape
.
"
I
ca
n't
get
the
rights
of
the
story
,
"
said
one
of
the
guests
,
a
hunting
Baronet
,
and
M
.
F
.
H
.
"
It
's
something
very
dark
,
is
n't
it
?
"
"
Very
dark
,
"
assented
a
tall
handsome
man
,
with
an
habitual
air
of
the
most
utterly
exhausted
apathy
ever
attained
by
the
human
features
,
but
who
,
nevertheless
,
had
been
christened
by
the
fiercest
of
the
warrior
nations
of
the
Punjaub
3
as
the
Shumsheer-i-Shaitan
,
or
Sword
of
the
Evil
One
,
so
terrible
,
when
he
was
but
a
boy
,
had
the
circling
sweep
of
one
back
stroke
of
his
become
to
them
.
"
Guards
cut
up
fearfully
rough
,
"
murmured
one
near
him
,
known
as
"
The
Dauphin
;
"
"
such
a
low
sort
of
thing
,
you
know
,
that
's
the
worst
of
it
.
Seraph
's
name
,
too
.
"
"
Poor
old
Seraph
!
he
's
fairly
bowled
over
about
it
,
"
added
a
third
.
"
Feels
it
awfully
—
by
Jove
he
does
!
It
's
my
belief
he
paid
those
Jew
fellows
the
whole
sum
to
get
the
pursuit
slackened
.
"
"
So
Thelusson
says
.
Thelusson
says
Jews
have
made
a
cracker
by
it
.
I
dare
say
!
Jews
always
do
,
"
muttered
a
fourth
.
"
First
Life
would
have
given
Beauty
a
million
sooner
than
have
him
do
it
.
Horrible
thing
for
the
Household
.
"
"
But
is
he
dead
?
"
pursued
their
guest
.
"
Beauty
?
—
Yes
;
smashed
in
that
express
,
you
know
.
"
"
But
there
was
no
evidence
?
"
suggested
the
Baronet
.
"
I
do
n't
know
what
you
call
evidence
,
"
murmured
the
Dauphin
.
"
Horses
are
sent
to
England
from
Paris
;
clearly
shows
he
went
to
Paris
.
Marseilles
train
smashes
;
twenty
people
ground
into
indistinguishable
amalgamation
;
two
of
the
amalgamated
,
jammed
head-foremost
in
a
carriage
alone
;
only
traps
in
carriage
with
them
,
Beauty
's
traps
,
with
name
clear
on
the
brass
outside
,
and
crest
clear
on
silver
things
inside
;
two
men
ground
to
atoms
,
but
traps
safe
;
two
men
of
course
,
Beauty
and
servant
;
man
was
a
plucky
fellow
,
sure
to
stay
with
him
.
"
And
having
given
the
desired
evidence
in
lazy
little
intervals
of
speech
,
he
took
some
Rhenish
.
"
Well
—
yes
;
nothing
could
be
more
conclusive
,
certainly
,
"
assented
the
Baronet
,
resignedly
convinced
.
"
It
was
the
best
thing
that
could
happen
under
the
unfortunate
circumstances
,
so
Lord
Royallieu
thinks
,
I
suppose
.
He
allowed
no
one
to
wear
mourning
,
and
had
his
unhappy
son
's
portrait
taken
down
and
burnt
.
"
"
How
melodramatic
!
"
reflected
Leo
Charteris
.
"
Now
what
the
deuce
can
it
hurt
a
dead
man
to
have
his
portrait
made
into
a
bonfire
?
Old
Lord
always
did
hate
Beauty
,
though
.
Rock
does
all
the
mourning
;
he
's
cut
up
no
end
;
never
saw
a
fellow
so
knocked
out
of
time
.
Vowed
at
first
he
'd
sell
out
,
and
go
into
the
Austrian
service
;
swore
he
could
n't
stay
in
the
Household
,
but
would
get
a
command
of
some
Heavies
,
and
be
changed
to
India
.
"
"
Duke
did
n't
like
that
—
did
n't
want
him
shot
;
nobody
else
,
you
see
,
for
the
title
.
By
George
!
I
wish
you
'd
seen
Rock
the
other
day
on
the
Heath
;
little
Pulteney
came
up
to
him
.
"
"
What
Pulteney
?
—
Jimmy
,
or
the
Earl
?
"
"
Oh
,
the
Earl
.
Jimmy
would
have
known
better
.
Those
new
men
never
know
anything
.
'
You
purchased
that
famous
steeple-chaser
of
his
from
Mr.
Cecil
's
creditors
,
did
n't
you
?
'
asks
Pulteney
.
Rock
just
looks
him
over
.
Such
a
look
,
by
George
!
'
I
received
Forest
King
as
my
dead
friend
's
last
gift
.
'
Pulteney
never
takes
the
hint
,
—
not
he
!
On
he
blunders
:
'
Because
,
if
you
were
inclined
to
part
with
him
,
I
want
a
good
new
hunting
strain
,
with
plenty
of
fencing
power
,
and
I
'd
take
him
for
the
stud
at
any
figure
you
liked
.
'
I
thought
the
Seraph
would
have
knocked
him
down
—
I
did
,
upon
my
honour
!
He
was
red
as
this
wine
in
a
second
with
rage
,
and
then
as
white
as
a
woman
.
'
You
are
quite
right
,
'
he
says
,
quietly
,
and
I
swear
each
word
cut
like
a
bullet
,
'
you
do
want
a
new
strain
with
something
like
breeding
in
it
,
but
—
I
hardly
think
you
'll
get
it
for
the
three
next
generations
.
You
must
learn
to
know
what
it
means
first
.
'
Then
away
he
lounges
,
leaving
Pulteney
planté-là
.
By
Jove
!
I
do
n't
think
the
Cotton-Earl
will
forget
this
Cambridgeshire
in
a
hurry
,
or
try
horse-dealing
on
the
Seraph
again
.
"
Laughter
loud
and
long
greeted
the
story
.
"
Poor
Beauty
!
"
said
the
Dauphin
,
"
he
'd
have
enjoyed
that
.
He
always
put
down
Pulteney
himself
.
I
remember
his
telling
me
he
was
on
duty
at
Windsor
once
when
Pulteney
was
staying
there
.
Pulteney
's
always
horribly
funked
at
Court
;
frightened
out
of
his
life
when
he
dines
with
any
royalties
;
makes
an
awful
figure
,
too
,
in
a
public
ceremony
;
ca
n't
walk
backward
for
any
money
,
and
at
his
first
levee
tumbled
down
right
in
the
Queen
's
face
.
Now
at
the
Castle
one
night
he
just
happened
to
come
down
a
corridor
as
Beauty
was
smoking
.
Beauty
made
believe
to
take
him
for
a
servant
,
took
out
a
sovereign
,
and
tossed
it
to
him
.
'
Here
,
keep
a
still
tongue
about
my
cigar
,
my
good
fellow
!
'
Pulteney
turned
hot
and
cold
,
and
stammered
out
God
knows
what
,
about
his
mighty
dignity
being
mistaken
for
a
valet
.
Bertie
just
laughed
a
little
,
ever
so
softly
.
'
Beg
your
pardon
,
—
thought
you
were
one
of
the
people
;
would
n't
have
done
it
for
worlds
;
I
know
you
're
never
at
ease
with
a
sovereign
!
'
Now
Pulteney
was
n't
likely
to
forget
that
.
If
he
wanted
the
King
,
I
'll
lay
any
money
it
was
to
give
him
to
some
wretched
mount
who
'd
break
his
back
over
a
fence
in
a
selling
race
.
"
"
Well
,
he
wo
n't
have
him
;
Seraph
do
n't
intend
to
have
the
horse
ever
ridden
or
hunted
at
all
.
"
"
Nonsense
!
"
"
By
Jove
,
he
means
it
!
nobody
's
to
cross
the
King
's
back
;
he
wants
weight
carriers
himself
,
you
know
,
and
precious
strong
ones
,
too
.
The
King
's
put
in
the
stud
at
Lyonnesse
.
Poor
Bertie
!
nobody
ever
managed
a
close
finish
as
he
did
at
the
Grand
National
—
last
but
two
—
do
n't
you
remember
?
"
"
Yes
;
waited
so
beautifully
on
Fly-by-Night
,
and
shot
by
him
like
lightning
just
before
the
run-in
.
Pity
he
went
to
the
bad
!
"
"
Ah
!
what
a
hand
he
played
at
écarté
;
the
very
best
of
the
French
science
.
"
"
But
reckless
at
whist
;
a
wild
game
there
—
uncommonly
wild
.
Drove
Cis
Delareux
half
mad
one
night
at
Royallieu
with
the
way
he
threw
his
trumps
out
.
Old
Cis
dashed
his
cards
down
at
last
,
and
looked
him
full
in
the
face
.
'
Beauty
,
do
you
know
,
or
do
you
not
know
,
that
a
whist-table
is
not
to
be
taken
as
you
take
timber
in
a
hunting-field
,
on
the
principle
of
clear
it
,
or
smash
it
?
'
—
'
Faith
!
'
said
Bertie
,
'
clear
it
,
or
smash
it
,
is
a
very
good
rule
for
anything
,
but
a
trifle
too
energetic
for
me
.
'
"
"
The
deuce
,
he
's
had
enough
of
'
smashing
'
at
last
!
I
wish
he
had
n't
come
to
grief
in
that
style
;
it
's
a
shocking
bore
for
the
Guards
,
—
such
an
ugly
story
.
"
"
It
was
uncommonly
like
him
to
get
killed
just
when
he
did
,
—
best
possible
taste
.
"
"
Only
thing
he
could
do
.
"
"
Better
taste
would
have
been
to
do
it
earlier
.
I
always
wondered
he
stopped
for
the
row
.
"
"
Oh
,
never
thought
it
would
turn
up
;
trusted
to
a
fluke
.
"
He
whom
the
Punjaub
knew
as
the
Sword
of
the
Evil
One
,
but
who
held
in
polite
society
the
title
of
Lord
Kergenven
,
drank
some
hock
slowly
,
and
murmured
as
his
sole
quota
to
the
conversation
very
lazily
and
languidly
:
"
Bet
you
he
is
n't
dead
at
all
.
"
"
The
deuce
you
do
?
And
why
?
"
chorused
the
table
;
"
when
a
fellow
's
body
's
found
with
all
his
traps
round
him
!
"
"
I
do
n't
believe
he
's
dead
,
"
murmured
Kergenven
,
with
closed
slumberous
eyes
.
"
But
why
?
Have
you
heard
anything
?
"
"
Not
a
word
.
"
"
Why
do
you
say
he
's
alive
,
then
?
"
My
Lord
lifted
his
brows
ever
so
little
.
"
I
think
so
,
that
's
all
.
"
"
But
you
must
have
a
reason
,
Ker
?
"
Badgered
into
speech
,
Kergenven
drank
a
little
more
hock
,
and
dropped
out
slowly
,
in
the
mellowest
voice
in
the
world
,
the
following
:
"
It
do
n't
follow
one
has
reasons
for
anything
;
pray
do
n't
get
logical
.
Two
years
ago
I
was
out
in
a
chasse
au
sanglier
,
central
France
;
perhaps
you
do
n't
know
their
work
?
It
's
uncommonly
queer
.
Break
up
the
Alps
into
little
bits
,
scatter
'
em
pell-mell
over
a
great
forest
,
and
then
set
a
killing
pack
to
hunt
through
and
through
it
.
Delightful
chance
for
coming
to
grief
;
even
odds
that
if
you
do
n't
pitch
down
a
ravine
,
you
'll
get
blinded
for
life
by
a
branch
;
that
if
you
do
n't
get
flattened
under
a
boulder
,
you
'll
be
shot
by
a
twig
catching
your
rifle-trigger
.
Uncommonly
good
sport
.
"
Exhausted
with
so
lengthened
an
exposition
of
the
charms
of
the
vénérie
and
the
hallali
,
he
stopped
,
and
dropped
a
walnut
into
some
Regency
sherry
.
"
Hang
it
,
Ker
!
"
cried
the
Dauphin
.
"
What
's
that
to
do
with
Beauty
?
"
My
Lord
let
fall
a
sleepy
glance
of
surprise
and
of
rebuke
from
under
his
black
lashes
,
that
said
mutely
,
"
Do
I
,
who
hate
talking
,
ever
talk
wide
of
any
point
?
"
"
Why
this
?
"
he
murmured
.
"
He
was
with
us
,
down
at
Veilleroc
,
Louis
d'Auvrai
's
place
,
you
know
;
and
we
were
out
after
an
old
boar
—
not
too
old
to
race
,
but
still
tough
enough
to
be
likely
to
turn
and
trust
to
his
tusks
if
the
pace
got
very
hot
,
and
he
was
hard
pressed
at
the
finish
.
We
had
n't
found
till
rather
late
;
the
limeurs
were
rather
new
to
the
work
,
and
the
November
day
was
short
,
of
course
;
the
pack
got
on
the
slot
of
a
roebuck
too
,
and
were
off
the
boar
's
scent
a
little
while
,
running
wild
.
Altogether
we
got
scattered
,
and
in
the
forest
it
grew
almost
as
dark
as
pitch
:
you
followed
just
as
you
could
,
and
could
only
guide
yourself
by
your
ear
when
the
hounds
gave
cry
,
or
the
horns
sounded
.
On
you
blundered
,
hit
or
miss
,
headlong
down
the
rocks
and
through
the
branches
;
horses
warmed
wonderfully
to
the
business
,
scrambled
like
cats
,
slid
down
like
otters
,
kept
their
footing
where
nobody
'd
have
thought
anything
but
a
goat
could
stand
.
Our
hunting
bloods
knock
up
over
a
cramped
country
like
Monmouthshire
;
they
would
n't
live
an
hour
in
a
French
forest
:
you
see
,
we
just
look
for
pace
and
strength
in
the
shoulders
,
we
do
n't
much
want
anything
else
—
except
good
jumping
power
.
What
a
lot
of
fellows
—
even
in
the
crack
packs
—
will
always
funk
water
!
Horses
will
fly
,
but
they
ca
n't
swim
.
Now
to
my
fancy
,
a
clever
beast
ought
to
take
even
a
swelling
bit
of
water
like
a
duck
.
How
poor
Standard
breasted
rivers
till
that
fool
staked
him
!
"
He
dropped
more
walnuts
into
his
wine
,
wistfully
recalling
a
mighty
hero
of
Leicestershire
fame
,
that
had
given
him
many
a
magnificent
day
out
,
and
had
been
the
idol
of
his
stables
,
till
in
his
twelfth
year
the
noble
old
sorrel
had
been
killed
by
a
groom
's
recklessness
;
recklessness
that
met
with
such
chastisement
,
as
told
how
and
why
the
Hill-tribes
'
sobriquet
had
been
given
to
the
hand
that
would
lie
so
long
in
indolent
rest
,
to
strike
with
such
fearful
force
when
once
raised
.
"
Well
,
"
he
went
on
once
more
.
"
We
were
all
of
us
scattered
;
scarcely
two
kept
together
anywhere
;
where
the
pack
was
,
where
the
boar
was
,
where
the
huntsmen
were
,
nobody
knew
.
Now
and
then
I
heard
the
hounds
giving
tongue
at
the
distance
,
and
I
rode
after
that
to
the
best
of
my
science
,
and
uncommonly
bad
was
the
best
.
That
forest
work
perplexes
one
after
the
grass-country
.
You
ca
n't
view
the
beauties
two
minutes
together
;
and
as
for
sinning
by
overriding
'
em
,
you
're
very
safe
not
to
do
that
!
At
last
I
heard
a
crashing
sound
loud
and
furious
;
I
thought
they
had
got
him
to
bay
at
last
.
There
was
a
great
oak
thicket
as
hard
as
iron
,
and
as
close
as
a
net
,
between
me
and
the
place
;
the
boughs
were
all
twisted
together
,
God
knows
how
,
and
grew
so
low
down
,
that
the
naked
branches
had
to
be
broken
through
at
every
step
by
the
horse
's
fore-hoofs
,
before
he
could
force
a
step
.
We
did
force
it
somehow
at
last
,
and
came
into
a
green
open
space
,
where
there
were
fewer
trees
,
and
the
moon
was
shining
in
;
there
,
without
a
hound
near
,
true
enough
was
the
boar
rolling
on
the
ground
,
and
somebody
rolling
under
him
;
they
were
locked
in
so
close
they
looked
just
like
one
huge
beast
,
pitching
here
and
there
,
as
you
've
seen
the
rhinos
wallow
in
Indian
jheels
Of
course
I
levelled
my
rifle
,
but
I
waited
to
get
a
clear
aim
;
for
which
was
man
and
which
was
boar
,
the
deuce
a
bit
could
I
tell
.
Just
as
I
had
pointed
,
Beauty
's
voice
called
out
to
me
:
'
Keep
your
fire
,
Ker
!
I
want
to
have
him
myself
.
'
It
was
he
that
was
under
the
brute
.
Just
as
he
spoke
they
rolled
towards
me
,
the
boar
foaming
and
spouting
blood
,
and
plunging
his
tusks
into
Cecil
;
he
got
his
right
arm
out
from
under
the
beast
,
and
crushed
under
there
as
he
was
,
drew
it
free
with
the
knife
well
gripped
;
then
down
he
dashed
it
three
times
into
the
veteran
's
hide
,
just
beneath
the
ribs
;
it
was
the
coup
de
grace
,
the
boar
lay
dead
,
and
Beauty
lay
half
dead
too
,
the
blood
rushing
out
of
him
where
the
tusks
had
dived
.
Two
minutes
,
though
,
and
a
draught
of
my
brandy
brought
him
all
round
;
and
the
first
words
he
spoke
were
:
'
Thanks
,
Ker
;
you
did
as
you
would
be
done
by
;
a
shot
would
have
spoilt
it
all
.
'
The
brute
had
crossed
his
path
far
away
from
the
pack
,
and
he
had
flung
himself
out
of
saddle
and
had
a
neck
and
neck
struggle
.
And
that
night
we
played
baccarat
by
his
bedside
to
amuse
him
;
and
he
played
just
as
well
as
ever
.
Now
this
is
why
I
do
n't
think
he
's
dead
;
a
fellow
who
served
a
wild
boar
like
that
,
wo
n't
have
let
a
train
knock
him
over
.
And
I
do
n't
believe
he
forged
that
stiff
,
though
all
the
evidence
says
so
.
Beauty
had
n't
a
touch
of
the
blackguard
in
him
.
"
With
which
declaration
of
his
views
Kergenven
lapsed
into
immutable
silence
and
slumberous
apathy
,
from
whose
shelter
nothing
could
tempt
him
afresh
;
and
the
Colonel
,
with
all
the
rest
,
lounged
into
the
ante-room
,
where
the
tables
were
set
,
and
began
"
plunging
"
in
earnest
at
sums
that
might
sound
fabulous
were
they
written
here
.
The
players
staked
heavily
;
but
it
was
the
galérie
who
watched
around
,
making
their
bets
,
and
backing
their
favourites
,
that
lost
on
the
whole
the
most
.
"
Horse
Guards
have
heard
of
the
plunging
;
think
we
're
going
too
fast
,
"
murmured
the
Chief
to
Kergenven
,
his
Major
,
who
lifted
his
brows
,
and
murmured
back
with
the
demureness
of
a
maiden
:
"
Tell
'
em
it
's
our
only
vice
;
we
're
models
of
propriety
!
"
Which
possibly
would
not
have
been
received
with
the
belief
desirable
by
the
sceptics
in
authority
.
So
the
De
Profundis
was
said
over
Bertie
Cecil
;
and
"
Beauty
of
the
Brigades
"
ceased
to
be
named
in
the
Service
,
and
soon
ceased
to
be
even
remembered
.
In
the
steeple-chase
of
life
there
is
no
time
to
look
back
at
the
failures
,
who
have
broken
down
over
a
"
double
and
drop
,
"
and
fallen
out
of
the
pace
.
END
OF
VOL.
I
.
VOL.
II
.
CHAPTER
I
.
"
L'AMIE
DU
DRAPEAU
.
"
"
Did
I
not
say
he
would
eat
fire
?
"
"
Pardieu
!
c'est
un
brave
.
"
"
Rides
like
an
Arab
.
"
"
Smokes
like
a
Zouave
.
"
"
Cuts
off
a
head
with
that
back
circular
sweep
,
ah
—
h
—
h
!
magnificent
!
"
"
And
dances
like
an
Aristocrat
;
not
like
a
tipsy
Spahis
!
"
The
last
crown
to
the
chorus
of
applause
,
and
insult
to
the
circle
of
applauders
,
was
launched
with
all
the
piquance
of
inimitable
canteen-slang
and
camp-assurance
,
from
a
speaker
who
had
perched
astride
on
a
broken
fragment
of
wall
,
with
her
barrel
of
wine
set
up
on
end
on
the
stones
in
front
of
her
,
and
her
six
soldiers
,
her
gros
bébées
as
she
was
given
maternally
to
calling
them
,
lounging
at
their
ease
on
the
arid
dusty
turf
below
.
She
was
very
pretty
,
audaciously
pretty
,
though
her
skin
was
burnt
to
a
bright
sunny
brown
,
and
her
hair
was
cut
as
short
as
a
boy
's
,
and
her
face
had
not
one
regular
feature
in
it
.
But
then
—
regularity
!
who
wanted
it
,
who
would
have
thought
the
most
pure
classic
type
a
change
for
the
better
,
with
those
dark
,
dancing
,
challenging
eyes
,
with
that
arch
,
brilliant
,
kitten-like
face
,
so
sunny
,
so
mignon
,
and
those
scarlet
lips
like
a
bud
of
camellia
that
were
never
so
handsome
as
when
a
cigarette
was
between
them
,
or
,
sooth
to
say
,
not
seldom
a
brûle
gueule
itself
?
She
was
pretty
,
she
was
insolent
,
she
was
intolerably
coquettish
,
she
was
mischievous
as
a
marmoset
,
she
would
swear
if
need
be
like
a
Zouave
,
she
could
fire
galloping
,
she
could
toss
off
her
brandy
or
her
vermout
like
a
trooper
,
she
would
on
occasion
clench
her
little
brown
hand
and
deal
a
blow
that
the
recipient
would
not
covet
twice
,
she
was
an
enfant
de
Paris
,
and
had
all
its
wickedness
at
her
fingers
,
she
would
sing
you
guinguette
songs
till
you
were
suffocated
with
laughter
,
and
she
would
dance
the
cancan
at
the
Salle
de
Mars
with
the
biggest
giant
of
a
Cuirassier
there
.
And
yet
,
with
all
that
,
she
was
not
wholly
unsexed
,
with
all
that
she
had
the
delicious
fragrance
of
youth
,
and
had
not
left
a
certain
feminine
grace
behind
her
,
though
she
wore
a
vivandière
's
uniform
,
and
had
been
born
in
a
barrack
,
and
meant
to
die
in
a
battle
;
it
was
the
blending
of
the
two
that
made
her
piquante
,
made
her
a
notoriety
in
her
own
way
;
known
at
pleasure
,
and
equally
,
in
the
Army
of
Africa
as
"
Cigarette
,
"
and
"
L
'
Amie
du
Drapeau
.
"
"
Not
like
a
tipsy
Spahis
!
"
it
was
a
cruel
cut
to
her
gros
bébées
,
most
Spahis
,
lying
there
at
her
feet
,
or
rather
at
the
foot
of
the
wall
,
singing
their
praises
—
with
magnanimity
beyond
praise
—
of
a
certain
Chasseur
d
'
Afrique
.
"
Ho
,
Cigarette
!
"
growled
a
little
Zouave
,
known
as
Tata
Leroux
.
"
That
is
the
way
thou
forsakest
thy
friends
for
the
first
fresh
face
.
"
"
Well
,
it
is
not
a
face
like
a
tobacco-stopper
,
as
thine
is
,
Tata
!
"
responded
Cigarette
,
with
a
puff
of
her
namesake
;
the
repartee
of
the
camp
is
apt
to
be
rough
.
"
He
is
Bel-à-faire-peur
,
as
you
nickname
him
.
"
"
A
woman
's
face
!
"
growled
the
injured
Tata
;
whose
own
countenance
was
of
the
colour
and
well-nigh
of
the
flatness
of
one
of
the
red
bricks
of
the
wall
.
"
Ouf
!
"
said
the
Friend
of
the
Flag
with
more
expression
in
that
single
ejaculation
than
could
be
put
in
a
volume
.
"
He
does
woman
's
deeds
,
does
he
?
He
has
woman
's
hands
,
but
they
can
fight
,
I
fancy
?
Six
Arabs
to
his
own
sword
the
other
day
in
that
skirmish
!
Superb
!
"
"
Sapristi
!
And
what
did
he
say
,
this
droll
,
when
he
looked
at
them
lying
there
?
Just
shrugged
his
shoulders
and
rode
away
.
'
I
'd
better
have
killed
myself
,
less
mischief
on
the
whole
!
'
Now
,
who
is
to
make
anything
of
such
a
man
as
that
?
"
"
Ah
!
he
did
not
stop
to
cut
their
gold
buttons
off
,
and
steal
their
cangiars
as
thou
wouldst
have
done
,
Tata
?
Well
!
he
has
not
learnt
la
guerre
,
"
laughed
Cigarette
.
"
It
was
a
waste
;
he
should
have
brought
me
their
sashes
at
least
.
By
the
way
—
when
did
he
join
?
"
"
Ten
—
twelve
—
years
ago
,
or
thereabouts
.
"
"
He
should
have
learnt
to
strip
Arabs
by
this
time
,
then
,
"
said
the
Amie
du
Drapeau
,
turning
the
tap
of
her
barrel
to
replenish
the
wine-cup
;
"
and
to
steal
from
them
too
,
living
or
dead
.
Thou
must
take
him
in
hand
,
Tata
!
"
Tata
laughed
,
considering
that
he
had
received
a
compliment
.
"
Diable
!
I
did
a
neat
thing
yesterday
.
Out
on
the
hills
,
there
,
was
a
shepherd
;
he
'd
got
two
live
geese
swinging
by
their
feet
.
They
were
scrceching
—
screeching
—
screeching
!
—
and
they
looked
so
nice
and
so
plump
,
that
I
could
smell
them
,
as
if
they
were
stewing
in
a
casserole
,
till
I
began
to
get
as
hungry
as
a
gamin
.
A
lunge
would
just
have
cut
the
question
at
once
;
but
the
orders
have
got
so
strict
potting
about
the
natives
,
I
thought
I
would
n't
have
any
violence
,
if
the
thing
would
go
nice
and
smoothly
.
So
I
just
walked
behind
him
,
and
tripped
him
up
before
he
knew
where
he
was
;
—
it
was
a
picture
!
He
was
down
with
his
face
in
the
sand
before
you
could
sing
Tra-la-la
!
Then
I
just
sat
upon
him
;
but
gently
—
very
gently
:
and
what
with
the
sand
,
and
the
heat
,
and
the
surprise
,
and
,
in
truth
,
perhaps
,
a
little
too
my
own
weight
,
he
was
half
suffocated
.
He
had
never
seen
me
;
he
did
not
know
what
it
was
that
was
sitting
on
him
;
and
I
sent
my
voice
out
with
a
roar
—
'
I
am
a
demon
,
and
the
fiend
hath
bidden
me
take
him
thy
soul
to-night
!
'
Ah
!
how
he
began
to
tremble
,
and
to
kick
,
and
to
quiver
.
He
thought
it
was
the
devil
a-top
of
him
;
and
he
began
to
moan
,
as
well
as
the
sand
would
let
him
,
that
he
was
a
poor
man
,
and
an
innocent
,
and
the
geese
were
the
only
things
he
ever
stole
in
all
his
life
.
Then
I
went
through
a
little
pantomime
with
him
,
and
I
was
very
terrible
in
my
threats
,
and
he
was
choking
and
choking
with
the
sand
,
though
he
never
let
go
of
the
geese
.
At
last
,
I
relented
a
little
,
and
told
him
I
would
spare
him
that
once
,
if
he
gave
up
the
stolen
goods
,
and
never
lifted
his
head
for
an
hour
.
Sapristi
!
how
glad
he
was
of
the
terms
!
I
dare
say
my
weight
was
unpleasant
;
so
the
geese
made
us
a
divine
stew
that
night
,
and
the
last
thing
I
saw
of
my
man
was
his
lying
flat
as
I
left
him
,
with
his
face
still
down
in
the
sand-hole
.
"
Cigarette
nodded
and
laughed
.
"
Pretty
fair
,
Tata
;
but
I
have
heard
better
.
Bah
!
a
grand
thing
certainly
,
to
fright
a
peasant
,
and
scamper
off
with
a
goose
!
"
"
Sacre-bleu
!
"
grumbled
Tata
,
who
was
himself
of
opinion
that
his
exploit
had
been
worthy
of
the
feats
of
Harlequin
;
"
thy
heart
is
all
gone
to
the
Englishman
.
"
Cigarette
laughed
saucily
and
heartily
,
tickled
at
the
joke
.
Sentiment
has
an
exquisitely
ludicrous
side
when
one
is
a
vivandière
aux
yeux
noirs
,
perched
astride
on
a
wall
,
and
dispensing
brandy-dashed
wine
to
half
a
dozen
sun-baked
Spahis
.
"
Vivandière
du
régiment
,
C'est
Catin
qu'on
me
nomme
;
Je
vends
,
je
donne
,
je
bois
gaiment
,
Mon
vin
et
mon
rogomme
:
J'ai
le
pied
leste
et
l'oel
mutin
,
Tintin
,
tintin
,
tintin
,
r'lin
tintin
,
Soldats
,
voilà
Catin
!
"
she
sang
with
the
richest
,
freshest
,
mellowest
voice
that
ever
chanted
the
deathless
refrains
of
the
French
Lucilius
.
"
My
heart
is
a
réveil-matin
,
Tata
;
it
wakes
fresh
every
day
.
An
Englishman
,
perdie
!
Why
dost
thou
think
him
that
?
"
"
Because
he
is
a
giant
,
"
said
Tata
.
Cigarette
snapped
her
fingers
:
"
I
have
danced
with
Grenadiers
and
Cuirassiers
quite
as
tall
,
and
twice
as
heavy
.
Après
?
"
"
Because
he
bathes
—
splash
!
like
any
water-dog
.
"
"
Because
he
is
silent
.
"
"
Because
he
rises
in
his
stirrups
.
"
"
Because
he
likes
the
sea
.
"
"
Because
he
knows
le
boxe
.
"
"
Because
he
is
so
quiet
,
and
blazes
like
the
devil
underneath
.
"
Under
which
mass
of
overwhelming
proofs
of
nationality
the
Amie
du
Drapeau
gave
in
.
"
Yes
,
like
enough
.
Besides
,
the
other
one
is
English
.
Lour-i-loo
,
of
the
Chasses-marais
,
4
tells
me
that
the
other
one
waits
on
him
like
a
slave
when
he
can
—
cleans
his
harness
,
litters
his
horse
,
saves
him
all
the
hard
work
,
when
he
can
do
it
without
being
found
out
.
Where
did
they
come
from
?
"
"
They
will
never
tell
.
"
Cigarette
tossed
her
nonchalant
head
,
with
a
pout
of
her
cherry
lips
,
and
a
slang
oath
,
light
as
a
bird
,
wicked
as
a
rigolbochade
.
"
Paf
!
—
they
will
tell
it
to
me
!
"
"
Chut
!
Thou
mayst
make
a
lion
tame
,
a
vulture
leave
blood
,
a
drum
beat
its
own
rataplan
,
a
dead
man
fire
a
clarinette
5
à
six
pieds
;
but
thou
wilt
never
make
an
Englishman
speak
when
he
is
bent
to
be
silent
.
"
Cigarette
launched
a
choice
missile
of
barrack
slang
at
an
array
of
metaphors
which
their
propounder
thought
stupendous
in
their
brilliancy
.
"
Bécasse
!
When
you
stole
your
geese
,
you
did
but
take
your
brethren
home
!
Englishmen
are
but
men
.
Put
the
wine
in
their
head
,
make
them
whirl
in
a
waltz
,
promise
them
a
kiss
,
and
one
turns
such
brains
as
they
have
inside
out
,
as
a
piou-piou
turns
a
dead
soldier
's
wallet
.
When
a
woman
is
handsome
,
.
she
is
never
denied
.
He
shall
tell
me
where
he
comes
from
.
I
doubt
that
it
is
from
England
;
see
here
—
why
not
?
"
and
she
checked
the
Noes
off
on
her
lithe
brown
fingers
:
"
first
,
he
never
says
God-damn
;
second
,
he
do
n't
eat
his
meat
raw
;
third
,
he
speaks
very
soft
;
fourth
,
he
waltzes
so
light
,
so
light
!
fifth
,
he
never
grumbles
in
his
throat
like
an
angry
bear
;
sixth
,
there
is
no
fog
in
him
.
How
can
he
be
English
with
all
that
?
"
"
There
are
English
,
and
English
,
"
said
the
philosophic
Tata
,
who
piqued
himself
on
being
serenely
cosmopolitan
.
Cigarette
blew
a
contemptuous
puff
of
smoke
.
"
There
was
never
one
yet
that
did
not
growl
!
Pauvres
diables
!
if
they
do
n't
use
their
tusks
,
they
sit
and
sulk
!
—
an
Englishman
is
always
boxing
or
grumbling
;
—
the
two
make
up
his
life
.
"
Which
view
of
Anglo-rabies
she
had
derived
from
a
profound
study
of
various
vaudevilles
,
in
which
the
traditional
God-damn
was
pre-eminent
in
his
usual
hues
;
and
having
delivered
it
,
she
sprang
down
from
her
wall
,
strapped
on
her
little
barillet
,
nodded
to
her
gros
bébées
,
where
they
lounged
full
length
in
the
shadow
of
the
stone
wall
,
and
left
them
to
resume
their
game
at
Boc
,
while
she
started
on
her
way
,
as
swift
and
as
light
as
a
chamois
,
singing
,
with
gay
ringing
emphasis
,
that
echoed
all
down
the
hot
and
silent
air
,
the
second
verse
of
Béranger
:
The
song
was
not
altogether
her
song
,
however
,
for
she
had
wept
for
none
—
wept
not
at
all
:
she
had
never
shed
tears
in
her
life
.
A
dashing
,
dauntless
,
vivacious
life
,
just
in
its
youth
,
loving
plunder
,
and
mischief
,
and
mirth
;
caring
for
nothing
;
and
always
ready
with
a
laugh
,
a
song
,
a
slang
repartee
,
or
a
shot
from
the
dainty
pistols
thrust
in
her
sash
,
that
a
general
of
division
had
given
her
,
whichever
best
suited
the
moment
.
Her
mother
a
camp-follower
,
her
father
nobody
knew
who
,
a
spoilt
child
of
the
Army
from
her
birth
,
with
a
heart
as
bronzed
as
her
cheek
,
and
her
respect
for
the
laws
of
meum
and
tuum
nil
,
yet
with
odd
stray
nature-sown
instincts
here
and
there
,
of
a
devil-may-care
nobility
,
and
of
a
wild
grace
that
nothing
could
kill
—
Cigarette
was
the
pet
of
the
Army
of
Africa
,
and
was
as
lawless
as
most
of
her
patrons
.
She
would
eat
a
succulent
duck
,
thinking
it
all
the
spicier
because
it
had
been
a
soldier
's
"
loot
;
"
she
would
wear
the
gold
plunder
off
dead
Arabs
'
dress
,
and
never
have
a
pang
of
conscience
with
it
;
she
would
dance
all
night
long
,
when
she
had
a
chance
,
like
a
little
Bacchante
;
she
would
shoot
a
man
,
if
need
be
,
with
all
the
nonchalance
in
the
world
.
She
had
had
a
thousand
lovers
,
from
handsome
Marquises
of
the
Guides
to
tawny
black-browed
scoundrels
in
the
Zouaves
,
and
she
had
never
loved
anything
,
except
the
roll
of
the
pas
de
charge
,
and
the
sight
of
her
own
arch
defiant
face
,
with
its
scarlet
lips
and
its
short
jetty
hair
,
when
she
saw
it
by
chance
in
some
burnished
cuirass
,
that
served
her
for
a
mirror
.
She
was
more
like
a
handsome
saucy
boy
than
anything
else
under
the
sun
,
and
yet
there
was
that
in
the
pretty
,
impudent
little
Friend
of
the
Flag
that
was
feminine
with
it
all
—
generous
and
graceful
amidst
all
her
boldness
,
and
her
licence
,
her
revelries
,
and
the
unsettled
life
she
led
in
the
barracks
and
the
camps
,
under
the
shadow
of
the
eagles
.
Away
she
went
,
now
singing
—
"
Mais
je
ris
en
sage
,
Bon
!
La
farira
dondaine
,
Gai
!
La
farira
dondée
!
"
down
the
crooked
windings
,
and
over
the
ruined
gardens
of
the
old
Moorish
quarter
of
the
Cashbah
,
the
hilts
of
the
tiny
pistols
glancing
in
the
sun
,
and
the
fierce
fire
of
the
burning
sunlight
pouring
down
unheeded
on
the
brave
bright
hawk
eyes
that
had
never
,
since
they
first
opened
to
the
world
,
drooped
or
dimmed
for
the
rays
of
the
sun
,
or
the
gaze
of
a
lover
,
for
the
menace
of
death
,
or
the
presence
of
war
.
Of
course
,
she
was
a
little
Amazon
;
of
course
,
she
was
a
little
Guerilla
;
of
course
,
she
did
not
know
what
a
blush
meant
;
of
course
,
her
thoughts
were
as
slang
and
as
riotous
as
her
mutinous
mischief
was
in
its
act
:
but
she
was
"
bon
soldat
,
"
as
she
was
given
to
say
,
with
a
toss
of
her
curly
head
,
and
she
had
some
of
the
virtues
of
soldiers
.
Soldiers
had
been
about
her
ever
since
she
first
remembered
having
a
wooden
casserole
for
a
cradle
,
and
sucking
down
red
wine
through
a
pipe-stem
.
Soldiers
had
been
her
books
,
her
teachers
,
her
models
,
her
guardians
,
and
,
later
on
,
her
lovers
,
all
the
days
of
her
life
.
She
had
had
no
guiding-star
except
the
eagles
on
the
standards
:
she
had
had
no
cradle-song
except
the
rataplan
and
the
réveillé
;
she
had
had
no
sense
of
duty
taught
her
,
except
to
face
fire
boldly
,
never
to
betray
a
comrade
,
and
to
worship
but
two
deities
,
"
La
Gloire
"
and
"
La
France
.
"
Yet
there
were
tales
told
in
the
barrack-yards
and
under
canvas
of
the
little
Amie
du
Drapeau
,
that
had
a
gentler
side
.
Of
how
softly
she
would
touch
the
wounded
;
of
how
deftly
she
would
cure
them
.
Of
how
carelessly
she
would
dash
through
under
a
raking
fire
,
to
take
a
draught
of
water
to
a
dying
man
.
Of
how
she
had
sat
by
an
old
Grenadier
's
death-couch
,
to
sing
to
him
,
refusing
to
stir
,
though
it
was
a
fête
at
