red-eared, red-trousered dispensers of harmony are perfect in
deportment, and as quiet as mice. They slip out of my back gate at
daylight, bound for the seat of war and slip in again at sundown like
obedient children, talk in kitchen whispers to Suzette over hot cakes
and cider, and go punctually to bed at nine--the very hour when the
roaring old general and his aide-de-camp are toasting their gold spurs
before my fire.

* * * * *

The general is tall and broad-shouldered, and as agile as a boy. There
is a certain hard, compact firmness about him as if he had been cast in
bronze. His alert eyes are either flashing in authority or beaming in
gentleness. The same play between dominant roughness and tenderness is
true, too, of his voice and manner.

"Madame," he said, last night, after dinner, as he bent and graciously
kissed Alice de Breville's hand, "forgive an old savage who pays you
homage and the assurance of his profound respect." The next moment my
courtyard without rocked with his reprimand to a bungling lieutenant.

To-night the general is in an uproar of good humour after a storm, for
did not some vagabonds steal the danger-posts intended to warn the
public of the location of the firing-line, so that new ones had to be
sent for? When the news of the theft reached him his rage was something
to behold. I could almost hear the little slide-trombonists shake as far
back as Suzette's kitchen. Fortunately, the cyclone was of short
duration--to-night he is pleased over the good work of his men during
the days of mock warfare and at the riddled, twisted targets, all of
which is child's play to this veteran who has weathered so many real
battles.

To-night he has dined well, and his big hand is stroking the Essence of
Selfishness who purrs against his medalled chest under a caress as
gentle as a woman's. He sings his favourite airs from "Faust" and "Aida"
with gusto, and roars over the gallant stories of his aide-de-camp, who,
being from the south of _La belle France_, is never at a loss for a
tale--tales that make the general's medals twinkle merrily in the
firelight. It is my first joyful experience as host to the military,
but I cannot help being nervous over Suzette and the trombonists.

"Bah! Those _sacre_ musicians!" exclaimed the general to-night as he
puffed at his cigarette. "If there's a laggard in my camp, you may be
sure it is one of those little devils with a horn or a w