University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

Lady of the Lake.

The echoes of the convent clock were still ringing
through the vaulted cloisters of the ancient
building, when the flash of torches, and the impatient
neigh and stamp of my charger in the courtyard,
announced too surely that the hour appointed
for my departure had arrived. At ten o'clock I
had resolved, however hard the effort, to tear myself
away; and, while in the newness of my feelings
I imagined that it lacked at least an hour of
the time, the night had worn onwards; and the
hateful bells had noted the lapse of minutes, which
to me and my young bride had passed unnumbered

and unregarded, though never to be forgotten. To
one who has gone through the regular gradations
of acquaintance, intimacy, affection, love, and
wedlock,—who has known, perhaps, for years,
and courted for months, her who is to be the partner
of his weal and wo through time at least, if
not eternity,—there may, there must be rapture
indescribable in the hours of intercourse, for the
first time, free and unrestrained,—in the interchange
of thoughts which could not well be interchanged
before,—in the mutual remembrances of
the first dawning of that passion which now is
every thing,—and, above all, in the sense, the security,
of possession. But, perfectly as I can comprehend
the intense delight of such sensations, I,
at the same time, feel, that being entirely different
in their nature, they must also be vastly inferior in
their degree, to those which I experienced during
this first stolen interview of my wedded life. I
had, in the brief space of a single day, gone
through all those successive stages which, in the
ordinary lives of men, occupy the course of many
months thus combined into a single epoch: I had
passed at once from utter insensibility to the opposite
extreme of passion; I had become enamoured
of a few strong points of character, which, as I
fain to believe, no less clearly proved the existence
of other excellences yet unseen, than do the
towering spires that loom above the ill-defined and
hazy outlines of a great city denote the position of
a hundred happy homes, which will emerge from
their obscurity as we draw near. I had set my
all upon a single cast. If my presentiment of
character were true, I had won that, in comparison
of which all other treasures might indeed be
counted dross; if I had erred, the happiness of a
life must atone for the error. It was not therefore
merely the gloating rapture of a lover blessed
by a fruition of all his hopes, but the keen and
thrilling scrutiny of a miser, weighing the ducats
for which he has exchanged his precious wares,—
the agonizing doubt of a magician, lest the pleasure
or the power for which he has trafficked his
immortal soul be found wanting in the balance.
It was not only the actual bliss that prompted me
to hang upon the silvery voice, to gaze on my own
features reflected in the clear blue eyes—those
mirrors of the ingenuous mind; not merely the
sense that she was irrevocably and eternally my
own—but the far loftier happiness of hearing in
every tone, of reading in every glance, the intelligence,
the brilliancy, the power, the sterling metal
of a soul now linked to mine by bonds of more
endurance than the adamant of old. So oppressively
painful was the idea of tearing myself away
from converse fit for the ears of angels,—of leaving
a bride, and such a bride, in the very hour of
marriage,—of leaving her never perhaps to return
—for my route lay through danger, such as at
another moment I should probably have courted
for its own sake alone—that the glance of anger
and vexation which I cast towards the casement
was not wholly unmingled with hesitation. I was
more than half-inclined to stay—to dare, to defy,
to endure all things, save the risk of losing her.
One look towards Isabel—her liquid eye was
fixed, dwelling with an unutterable expression of
solicitude, upon my features. “Never!” I muttered,
“never!” And rising hastily, I made two
strides towards the door, determined to countermand
my steed; but, ere I could make a third, the
soft pressure of her hand upon my shoulder, and
her yet softer voice, recalled me. So thoroughly
congenial were our spirits, so perfectly attuned
our hearts, that she had already learned to read
even a motion or a look.

“No, Harry!” she said; “dearest Harry, no!
Think you not that it is as hard to me, this cruel
parting? Yet, though it were to anticipate the
joys of heaven, I would not you should tarry.
Too much have you done, too much have you

risked already, and for me! It is honour that now
calls—your honour, Harry; and can you think
so meanly of her whom you have intrusted with
your all, as that she would set that in jeopardy,
and for the vile price of present pleasure? Go!—
go where duty and your honour call you. Go!
and may all good angels guard you!”

To an appeal like this there could be no reply.
To be reminded of my duty by a girl,—to be urged
to the sacrifice of all—of present bliss, perhaps of
future happiness—rather than to the loss of honour!
If I had loved her before, I adored her now! She
was, she was the very being I had conceived her
from the beginning,—fair, and fond, and feminine,
yet fraught with a spirit that could writhe up
against the pressure of evil, and show itself in all
the majesty of heroism—heroism not framed on
the brute impulses of active courage, but on the
rarer and far more noble principles of patient, fearless,
and unmoved endurance. I caught her—
strained her to my bosom—“Had all men such a
counsellor, earth would have to boast a thousand
heroes where now she numbers ten. Heaven—
Heaven itself hath given thee to me, Isabel, to be
my guardian genius, my good angel; to repress
each ill desire, to confirm each nobler purpose;
and Heaven will preserve to me its gift. Farewell

—farewell, beloved one. What though my body
leave thee—my soul remains behind. For the first,
for the last time, fare thee well—my own—my
only Isabel!”

Many a bitter pang, many a chilling separation
had I endured. I had parted from a father, a
murdered corpse beneath a blazing roof-tree; from
a noble brother, gored by the roundhead pikes and
trampled beneath the hoofs of his own charging
squadrons, which he still cheered on to glory; from
a mother—the mother who had soothed my froward
infancy, and taught me to bear up against
the oppression of manhood's wo—perishing, slowly
and miserably, by that worst of human ailments,
a broken heart; from a country, for which I had
lost all but life, and for which I would have lost
that also, and how gladly! From all these had I
been severally rent asunder; and, at each several
parting, though I bore it as a man should bear, I
had felt as though the very strings of my existence
were strained to breaking! But now—and I shame
not to write it—tears, hot tears stood in my burning
eyes, and my throat swelled till it had wellnigh
choked me.

It was over! I pulled the hat upon my brows,
strode slowly, and without daring to look back,
through the echoing cloisters. Again and again I

charged the prior, as he valued the approval or
dreaded the rebukes of his own conscience, to protect
the bride whom he himself had tied to me, in that
most hallowed bond which death alone may sever.
I paused not for his reply; his benedicite was
uttered, perhaps for the first time, to regardless
ears. I cast myself into the saddle, struck the
spurs deep into the charger's side, as if distrustful
of my own resolution, and dashed at once into
that fierce and rapid motion by which, despite the
ancient adage, men fancy they can outstrip the
pursuit of care.

All night long I journeyed onward; not, indeed,
at the furious pace which must have soon exhausted
both horse and rider, but at the steady measured
trot, which, though to the eye it seem a laggard's
gait, accomplishes a distant course with the greatest
speed and certainty. For a brief space, my
feelings were, I know not how, benumbed by the
shock of parting; then, gradually, as this insensibility
wore away, my spirits were depressed,
beyond all that my experience had ever felt of
despair: I dreamed—for my state of mind was
more similar to sleep than waking—a thousand
fearful things, among which, perhaps, eternal separation
was the least tremendous. After a time,
however, the free and somewhat chilly currents of

the night air, the inspiriting sensation of quick motion,
and the increasing necessity for care and
vigilance, overpowered such gloomy fantasies. I
fixed my thoughts steadfastly upon the work before
me, and I soon perceived, that, when they did
revert to all which I had left, their train became
less gloomy, and tended, with an easy and gradual
transition, to confidence and hope. Before the
night had passed away, and while the stars were
still shining in the wintry sky, I found myself
humming the burden of some lively song, and
guiding my horse, if not with the thoughtless
buoyancy of former times, with cheerfulness at
least, and even gayety of heart.

The east grew pale, the morning broke brightly,
and, like a harbinger of happy tidings, the great
sun heaved his rim above the horizon, shooting his
slant rays over field and forest, which glittered, in
their frosty garb, as if they had been sprinkled
with diamonds. It was a season and a scene to
cheer the most despondent, and to wake reflection
in the most worldly mind. At this instant, however—although
their influence was not without its
effect in still further dispelling the gloom which
had a little while before so completely veiled my
mental horizon—I was called upon to give my
attention to things of a more important, if less exalted,

nature, than mere reflection on the beauties
of nature, or the mercies of its Great Architect.
I had already completed twelve leagues of my route,
and, although my own mind was too deeply interested
to permit my feeling sensibly the wants of
the body, I was not one to neglect the necessities
of the faithful brute that bore me, and that lately
had acquired so heavy a claim on my gratitude.
A small hamlet, lying at a short distance from the
main road, imbosomed in a wide tract of woodland,
afforded me, in its snug hostelry, all the appliances
of simple comfort, with the additional
advantage of that secrecy which was so all-important
to the success of my mission. At this
place, wherein I rested till the sun was fast declining,
I gained, for the first time, certain information
of the troops I was hastening to command. They
lay in garrison, I was told, at the town of Pont à
Mousson, about ten leagues distant, consisting of
three full regiments of well-appointed cavalry.
With these good tidings, however, there were
mingled rumours of a nature far less agreeable.
The troops, it was whispered, were in a state of
ill-discipline approaching to the very verge of
license, unchecked by the officers, who were, for
the most part, gay youths, fitter for the salons of the
metropolis than for the austerities of a winter's campaign.
Nor was this all: disaffection, it seems,
had been creeping darkly, but not therefore the
less certainly, among the population of this remote
district; and the party of the Fronde had gained
many partisans, though not yet avowed, among
the surrounding peasantry—nay, it was even
hinted that secret levies were now in progress,
and that the position of the troops might, ere long,
be critical enough. Such was the intelligence
which I easily elicited from the garrulity of mine
host; and which availed, yet more than the alteration
of my state of mind, to render me alert and
self-possessed. The shadows were already cast
in lengthened lines from every object that intercepted
the light of the setting sun, when I departed
from my resting-place; and it was not long before
my path lay through the total obscurity of a moonless
wintry night. I did not, however, as before,
pass all the hours of darkness on the road, but
paused, when two-thirds of the distance were accomplished,
to prepare myself for the first interview
with my new followers. Nor, in truth, did
I feel by any means over-confident of the result.
The character I had lately heard of the men and
officers whom I was about to meet, and the rude
and weather-beaten state of my own person and
accoutrements, would, I apprehended, be too little
in unison to harmonize on a very brief acquaintance;
while I felt, at the same time, that the ordeal,
to which we should in all probability be exposed
together, was one that would require the
utmost energy and vigour in the commander, and
the most implicit obedience and unity of action in
the subordinates.

Of myself I have hitherto said little; but a
brief sketch of the person with whose inmost
thoughts he is becoming acquainted, may aid the
reader to form a better judgment of the position
into which I was now thrown. I was, at this
eventful period of my fortunes, somewhat past my
thirtieth year, although—from long exposure to
war and weather, and from having been cast very
early upon the world under circumstances such
as form the character and ripen the mind—I looked
several years older. Not unusually tall, or bulky,
in my person, I was both strongly and actively
framed; and constant exercise and hardship had
indurated my muscles to a degree that would have
rendered me more than a match for many a heavier
antagonist than myself. My features were
irregular; not so much so, however, as to amount
to ugliness, much less to vulgarity. My eye,
though sunken, or, to speak more properly, deepset,
was quick and clear; and my brow—now surrounded

by a black fillet—broad and fully developed.
My lip was shaded by a thick mustache,
and, as I have elsewhere observed, I wore my hair
in the long flowing curls at this time peculiar to
the cavaliers. If, in addition to these, I mention,
that the lower part of my face was bronzed to
almost Indian redness, while my forehead retained
its natural fairness,—that my arms, though not so
long as to appear unsightly, or deformed, were of
unusual reach,—and that, from long practice, my
motions were easier, and my general appearance
far more graceful, on horseback than when on foot,
—no description can be more accurate. On my
departure from St. Germains, my dress had been
carefully selected, for other qualities than richness
or display; properties which, however admirable in
the court, would have been of no small disadvantage
under existing circumstances. A strong, but
plain, buff coat, with none of the rich silken loops
or fringes of Flanders lace with which it was then
the mode to deck the sternest habiliments of war;
a gorget and cuirass of steel, which, although
highly polished, and of the choicest metal, were
neither chased nor inlaid with gold or silver;
heavy jack-boots, extending far above the knee,
and equipped with a pair of massive spurs;
gauntlets of buff, protected on the outside by iron
scales; and a slouched hat, provided with jointed
cheek-pieces, and an inner lining of the same material,—such
were the accoutrements of a well-appointed
trooper, and with such, for the support
of that character, I had furnished myself. Plain,
however, and unadorned as they had appeared,
when I sallied, some three weeks before, from my
head-quarters, they were then at least in the highest
state of order; which was more than could be
said of them when I halted for the night at Beaumont.
The leather of my doublet was sorely
chafed, and splashed with specimens of every different
soil through which my road had lain; the steel
of my breastplate was curiously ingrained with
rust of every hue, from the deep black of a fortnight's
growth to the red stain of yesterday; my
boots, guiltless of the brush, were gray and mildewed;
while my castor, that Corinthian capital
of a gentleman's architecture, had been shorn of
its feather, and knocked into every various shape
of which a Spanish beaver is susceptible. It was
in vain that, during my last halt, I stuck a new
feather of the loyal colours into my weather-beaten
hat, and flung a bright scarf of the same die across
my shoulders: I could not cheat even myself into
the belief that I bore the slightest resemblance to
a chef d'escadron—for such was the rank I bore—
in the service of the most Christian king. The
result was—as, indeed, it mostly is—that all my
labour and anxiety were utterly thrown away;
accident providing me with a far better introduction
than the most martinet-like appearance, or
the most ample letters of credence, could have
afforded.

It was on the second morning after my parting
from Isabel, that I rode through the humble suburbs
of Beaumont, into the open country which
lies between that place and Pont à Mousson, now
but a few miles distant. I had already journeyed,
it might be for an hour, through a rich and fertile
country—when a distant shout riveted my attention.
It was not the deep and regular hurrah of
charging troops, nor yet was it such as could be
raised in any of the ordinary chances of rural
labour or pastime, but a hoarse savage roar, as of
an angry multitude. Immediately afterward I
heard, though very remote, the blast of trumpets,
and the booming of a kettle-drum. I paused, and,
listening in breathless eagerness, fancied I could
distinguish the heavy onward tramp of charging
troops. My suspicions were confirmed by the
roll of a volley of musketry, and the varied sounds
of a battle-field, distinctly audible in every lull,
but again lost in every freshening of the breeze.

Loosening my weapon in its scabbard, I rode hastily
forward, and, on clearing the brow of a small
eminence, perceived below me the scene of the
disturbance. A small body of cavalry, not apparently
exceeding a single regiment, with royal
colours displayed and music sounding, was on the
point of charging for the second time, as it would
seem,—since the ground was strewed with dead,
and chargers were running masterless,—a large
concourse—for it merited no other name—of men,
whose motley costumes and irregular array betokened
any thing rather than soldiers. These rustics
were, however, posted with considerable skill,
their front being protected by a ditch, and their
right wing covered by a marshy wood, while their
extreme left occupied a churchyard abutting on
the high-road, and surrounded by a lofty wall.
The insurgents were destitute of cavalry, and, as
far as I could see, entirely unprovided with fire-arms.
I had scarcely time to observe the relative
position of the hostile parties, before the trumpets
of the horse again sounded a charge, and they
rushed headlong against the centre of the line,
through ground which I now discovered, by the
hampered movements of their chargers, to be little
better than a morass. On arriving at the verge of
the trench, which they did, not with the regular
front of a well-ordered regiment, but in a broken
and scattered mass, the cuirassiers poured in a
heavy volley from their petronels,[1] throwing their
adversaries into some confusion; but, on their
attempting to improve this slight advantage, and
cross the ditch at a deep and miry ford, the peasants
broke down upon them with pike and sword,
while entangled in the broken ground; mingled
with the horsemen, meeting them resolutely, hand
to hand; and finally beat them off in total disarray,
spearing many, both officers and privates, ere
they could gain the firm ground; on reaching which
they were with some difficulty rallied, while the
victorious countrymen retired slowly and sullenly
to their main host.

Such was the crisis at which it was my fortune
to fall in with the outposts of my command. They
were collected, when I came up to them, on a
small knoll, or rocky hillock, on the very edge of
the marsh, and were engaged in loud and wordy
argument concerning the propriety of another attack
upon the Frondeurs; which counsel was
strenuously advocated by some, while others as
violently demanded that they should wait the

arrival of a reinforcement, which had been already
summoned from Pont à Mousson. To all the
evils arising from want of discipline and insubordination
I had been well inured during the miserable
civil wars which had, during so long a period,
rent the bosom of my own fair island; but never,
in all my experience of camps, had I beheld so wild
and tumultuous a council as that which now met
my eyes. So completely were they engrossed in
their stormy debate, that I actually rode up to
within ten paces of the party unchallenged, and
might probably have mingled with them unnoticed;
but such was not my present intention. I
called out, therefore, in a clear loud voice, demanding
to be conducted instantly to their commanding
officer. Strange and scrutinizing glances
were cast upon my dress and accoutrements as I
approached, but my request was unhesitatingly
complied with, and, in another moment, I was
presented to a very young officer, in a splendid
uniform, with a burnished casque and corslet,
whose bloody brow, and arm suspended in a scarf,
proved his gallantry as clearly as did his ruffled
mien and angry exclamations his inability to command.

“If, sir,” I said, so loudly that all might hear
my words,—“if, sir, as I presume, you be the commander

of the garrison of Pont à Mousson, I have
the honour to present to you a mandate from his
highness Cardinal Mazarin, requiring your immediate
march, with all the forces at your disposal,
upon the capital, whither I am authorized to conduct
you. At the same time, that you may not
remain ignorant of him who now addresses you, I
shall—although it be not absolutely called for—display
to you my commission, from the same hand,
as major-general and chef d'escadron, during the
pleasure of our glorious monarch Louis le Grand.”
As I concluded my harangue with a well-known
claptrap, which, as I had fully expected, called
forth a loud shout of approbation from the licentious
troopers, I perceived that the missives were
considered satisfactory, and that the officer was
slightly embarrassed. Determined, therefore, to
anticipate his inquiries—“And now, sir,” I cried,
“why do I find you here, with so small a command,
and—I regret to say it—in so great disarray
before a peasant foe? Why, too, this evil
discipline? Fy! sir, fy!—let your subalterns get
the men into array at once—this matter must be
amended. St. George! but ye resemble more a
band of robbers than the gallant cavaliers I trust I
soon shall prove ye! Methinks I heard ye speak
of reinforcements—send out videttes to reconnoitre
their advance—push forward a picket of
cavalry in front, to mark the motions of that
canaille, with whom, God aid us, I will soon take
order! And now, sir—I await your answer!”

Briefly, yet not without manifest embarrassment,
the Comte de Charmi—for such, he informed
me, was his title—explained that he had been detached
by the officer in command, with orders to
disperse a body of malecontents assembled in the
marshes of Beaumont; that on his arrival he had
found the enemy vastly his superior in numbers,
and had immediately despatched an aide for reinforcements;
but that, unwilling to dishonour the
corps by a palpable retreat, he had made two
efforts to dislodge them, and had been repulsed
in either attack with considerable loss. Scarcely
had he finished his report, before the vidette returned
with the intelligence that no reinforcements
were in sight, although he had galloped to a height
which commanded the whole line of route up to
the very walls, and that consequently none were
shortly to be expected. I perceived at once my
opportunity—it would not do to retreat before the
Frondeurs, or our march to Paris could never be
accomplished—it would not do to risk my own
character, either for courage or decision. The
greatest hold a leader can possess over his troops

is in their estimate of his abilities; and I saw at
once that I could gain the confidence of mine. On
even ground the enemy must prove mere chaff before
the mettled horses and perfect arms of our
cavalry. Their position was their only safety—
my practised eye had already found its key, and
I was resolved myself to carry it by a coup de
main!

“Accompany me to the front, Monsieur de
Charml;” and, turning my horse's head, I rode
slowly along the line. If there was much to
blame, there was yet more to admire, in the detachment.
The men were for the most part active
hardy-looking youths, admirably mounted and
equipped—discipline alone was wanting—and discipline,
I well knew, beneath the eye of a strict and
intelligent officer is soon acquired. “Gentlemen,”
I cried, in high but courteous tones—“it is the
pleasure of your king that I should lead you. I
have found you in retreat—but I never retreat, by
St. George, never! We must beat these fellows,
and that too on the instant! Monsieur de Charmi,
call volunteers to the front—I have need of two
score men for desperate service, and—I myself
shall lead them!”

The young officer rode forward, and addressed
a few spirited and well-chosen words to the soldiers,

who were already on fire to retrieve their
reputation, and then fell back a pistol-shot from the
front; the bugles flourished, and, to my utter astonishment,
the whole corps rode out three paces,
like a single man. Highly delighted, I dashed the
rowels into Bayard's flanks, and wheeled, hat in
hand, to the front of their files at a gallop.

“Gentlemen, and gallant comrades,” I cried,
checking my horse from the top of his career so
suddenly that he stood at once still as a lifeless
sculpture—“words cannot tell how deeply I appreciate
your confidence—nor is your confidence misplaced!
Often and again, I trust, I shall experience
the courage and prompt devotion of all!—at
present I have but need of forty—and where all
are brave, a leader can have no choice—let every
tenth man leave the ranks!”

The movement was executed; I dismounted,
and passed on foot from man to man, examining,
with my own hand and eye, the state of their arms
and the condition of their steeds, and, this done,
gave the word to mount.

“My object, Monsieur de Charmi,” I continued,
“is to carry, sword in hand, you churchyard, which
forms the point d'appui of their left wing. This
will I execute myself. You, with the main body,
will advance in column upon their centre, slowly,

and keeping your men well together. When you
shall reach the dike, let your first and second
troops deploy, covering your passage with the fire
of their petronels, till you shall hear my bugle.
Then charge! Cut your way to the rear! Wheel
to the right, and you shall find me near you. Be
steady, and success is certain! Forward, and let
your shout be—Glory!”

Without another word, I rode to the head of
my volunteers, and, putting them in motion, proceeded
along the highway, while De Charmi was
moving on a parallel line across the marshy meadows
to my left; the force of the enemy lying, as
I have before described it, at right angles to the
public road. As I advanced I lost sight of De
Charmi's division, behind some clumps of timber-trees
which lined the causeway; and, I confess, I
was not a little anxious during the interval; for I
shrewdly doubted the prudence of the leader, and
the steadiness of his command. At this moment
the sharp report of a petronel rang from the left,
and was followed by the continuous rattle of a well-sustained
fire. “On! on!” I shouted, and at a
rapid pace we reached the angle of the churchyard,
protected by walls of solid masonry at least four feet
in height. The trees became thinner, and then
broke off entirely. I caught a glimpse of the

affair in the meadows. De Charmi's leading troops
were spread out to the right and left of his main
body, keeping up a beautiful and most destructive
volley upon the enemy's centre, while files after files
were passing the trench under the cover of the
cross fire, and taking up their position with all the
steadiness of veterans. “Forward!” and we
dashed on, till the head of my little column was
parallel with the extreme rear of the enemy's lines
—“Halt, Gentlemen of France!—Left face!”—
and on the instant our heads were turned against
his flank. The churchyard had been occupied by
those of the peasantry who were the least perfect
in their equipments, and who were destitute of musketry.
They were already wavering at the mere
sight of our front. Still the mode of attack to which
I had determined to resort was perilous in the extreme.
It was to leap my whole detachment, boot
and thigh, into the enclosure! With the well-trained
hunters of my native island would it have
been a matter of everyday occurrence; but with
the comparatively ill-trained horses and unpractised
riders of France it was a desperate risk.

Before giving the word to charge, I cast one
last glance to the centre. De Charmi's corps had
passed the ford, but, strange to say, his fire was

slackening, and the enemy was bearing down on
him in overwhelming force.

In ten words, I explained my object to my men;
a loud shout was the reply. The bugler was
already handling his instrument. I took my post
three horses' lengths in front. I looked to my
troopers—every face was grim and resolute, every
sword levelled to the charge; with tightened rein
and ready spur, they waited for the signal.—
“Charge!”—the bugle flourished, and I dashed my
good horse fearlessly against the wall. Steadily,
with a long and swinging leap, he cleared the obstacle.
I pulled upon the curb; he reared erect,
and, ere his fore-feet touched the earth, was motionless.
Towards the craven foe I never turned
an eye—a thought; my whole soul was in the
attack. With the rush of a whirlwind they came
on; as if it were with a single motion they rose;
they swept over the high masonry; they landed
safely in the area; a single bullet might have
grazed the bosom of every rider, so beautifully even
was their advance! Unity of spirit had effected,
in a single instant, that which it is the pride of the
disciplinarian to bring about in the course of years.
Not a horse stumbled; not a rider swerved in his
seat.—“Halt! Ho!”—they were a line of statues.—“Charge
again! charge!”—but the victory

was bloodless. Not a single second had they
paused; sauve qui peut was the word, before a
single trooper stood beside me. Ten minutes
more, and we had joined De Charmi—the peasant
foe scattered, cut down, broken, dispersed, without
a hope of rallying. An hour before, I had been a
stranger, doubtful of my reception, and the men
whom I commanded a mere armed mob. Now I
was adored; exalted to the skies; a leader, like
Bayard, sans peur et sans reprôche; and the meanest
trooper of the regiment confident in his own
prowess and in his general's skill. It was indeed
a victory in its results.

Ere the sun set, we were in Pont à Mousson.
Rumour had played her part. I was the idol of
my division. The regiment I had seen in action
was a fair sample of the whole; well-armed, well-mounted,
fearless, and full of that belief in their
own valour which renders men invincible. All
this was well; and, above all, we were to march
TO-MORROW.