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 Spahi!" It was a cruel cut to her gros bebees, mostly
Spahis, lying there at her feet, or rather at the foot of the wall,
singing the 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-a-faire-peur, as you nickname him."

"A woman's face!" growled the injured Tata; whose own countenance was of
the color 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
exclamation 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 learned 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 learned 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
screeching--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