lank of the miserable beast, over he went, barrels and all,
crushing me beneath him as he fell.

[Illustration: 111]

'Is the boy hurt?' were the last words I heard, as I fainted; but a few
minutes after I found myself seated on the grass, while a soldier was
stanching the blood that ran freely from a cut in my forehead.

'It is a trifle, general--a mere scratch,' said a young officer to an
old man on horseback beside him, 'and the leg is not broken.'

'Glad of it,' said the old officer; 'casualties are insufferable, except
before an enemy. Send the lad to his regiment.'

'He's only a camp-follower, general. He does not belong to us.'

'There, my lad, take this, then, and make thy way back to Paris,' said
the old general, as he threw me a small piece of money.

I looked up, and, straight before me, saw the same officer who had given
me the assignat the night before.

'General Lacoste!' cried I, in delight, for I thought him already a
friend.

'How is this--have I an acquaintance here?' said he, smiling; 'on my
life! it's the young rogue I met this morning. Eh! art not thou the
artillery-driver I spoke to at the barrack?'

'Yes, general, the same.'

'_Diantre!_ It seems fated, then, that we are not to part company so
easily; for hadst thou remained in Paris, lad, we had most probably
never met again.'

'_Ainsi, je suis bien tombe, general?_ said I, punning upon my accident.

He laughed heartily, less, I suppose, at the jest, which was a poor one,
than at the cool impudence with which I uttered it, and then turning to
one of the staff, said--

'I spoke to Bertholet about this boy already; see that they take him in
the 9th. I say, my lad, what's thy name?'

'Tiernay, sir.'

'Ay, to be sure, Tiernay. Well, Tiernay, thou shalt be a hussar, my man.
See that I get no disgrace by the appointment.'

I kissed his hand fervently, and the staff rode forward, leaving me the
happiest heart that beat in all the crowded host.

CHAPTER VII. A PASSING ACQUAINTANCE

If the guide who is to lead us on a long and devious track stops at
every byway, following out each path that seems to invite a ramble or
suggest a halt, we naturally might feel distrustful of his safe conduct,
and uneasy at the prospect of the road before us. In the same way
may the reader be disposed to fear that he who descends to slight and
trivial circumstances will scarcely have time for events which ought
to occupy a wider space in his remi