elf; let's talk of thee. Where hast thou been?'

'Here!' said I, with a sigh, and in a voice that shame had almost made
inaudible. 'Here, here, at Nancy.'

'Not always here?'

'Just so. Always here.'

'And what doing, _mon cher_? Thou art not one of the Municipal Guard,
surely?'

'No,' said I, smiling sadly, 'I belong to the "Ecole d'Equitation.'"

'Ah, that's it,' said he, in somewhat of confusion; 'I always thought
they selected old Serjeants _en retraite_, worn-out veterans, and
wounded fellows, for riding-school duty.'

'Most of ours are such,' said I, my shame increasing at every word--'but
somehow they chose me also, and I had no will in the matter----'

'No will in the matter, _parbleu!_ and why not? Every man in France has
a right to meet the enemy in the field. Thou art a soldier, a hussar of
the 9th, a brave and gallant corps, and art to be told that thy comrades
have the road to fame and honour open to them, whilst thou art to mope
away life like an invalided drummer? It is too gross an indignity, my
boy, and must not be borne. Away with you to-morrow at daybreak to the
etat-major; ask to see the Commandant. You're in luck, too, for our
colonel is with him now, and he is sure to back your request. Say that
you served in the school to oblige your superiors, but that you cannot
see all chances of distinction lost to you for ever by remaining there.
They've given you no grade yet, I see,' continued he, looking at my arm.

'None; I am still a private.'

'And I a sous-lieutenant, just because I have been where powder was
flashing! You can ride well, of course?'

'I defy the wildest Limousin to shake me in my saddle.'

'And, as a swordsman, what are you?'

'Gros Jean calls me his best pupil.'

'Ah, true! you have Gros Jean here, the best _sabreur_ in France! And
here you are--a horseman, and one of Gros Jean's _eleves_--rotting away
life in Nancy! Have you any friends in the service?'

'Not one.'

'Not one! Nor relations, nor connections?'

'None. I am Irish by descent. My family are only French by one
generation.'

'Irish! Ah! that's lucky too,' said he. 'Our colonel is an Irishman. His
name is Mahon. You're certain of getting your leave now. I'll present
you to him to-morrow. We are to halt two days here, and before that is
over, I hope you'll have made your last caracole in the riding-school of
Nancy.'

'But remember,' cried I, 'that although Irish by family, I have never
been there. I k