ould never let a good soldier go unrewarded.

The narrowness of Gaston Cheverny's fortune made him lead the same
life in Paris he had led since he first joined with us. Whether it
were choice or necessity, his only intimate friends were myself, and
his dog Bold. This dog was to him what I have tried to be to Count
Saxe. No man need be ashamed to have his faithfulness and devotion
compared to that of a dog of the right character. Bold had some of the
noblest virtues of humanity as well as of caninity. He was faithful,
honest, watchful, kind, scorned to fight a weaker dog, while
presenting a courageous front to one larger than himself; and although
a warrior by nature, yet by the excellence of his heart, and the
soundness of his judgment, he became a philosopher, not so brilliant
as Monsieur Voltaire, for example, but far more consistent.

Once a year Gaston Cheverny visited Brabant, always taking Bold with
him. Mademoiselle Capello remained at her chateau of Capello, and so
did Madame Riano, although she was ever, like ourselves, expecting to
be on the march. The time had expired when Francezka professed to be
bound by her father's will not to marry, yet she showed no inclination
to reward any of her numerous suitors. She continued to live in gaiety
and splendor at the chateau of Capello, and I imagine rather enjoyed
the torments of her lovers. Regnard Cheverny kept up his pursuit of
her, so Gaston told me. Regnard had then joined the Austrian service,
being a captain in the Grenadiers. He contrived, however, to get leave
to visit Brabant at the same time that Gaston did, once a year. The
brothers played a very watchful but perfectly fair and honorable game
with each other in this love affair, which had already lasted six
years. Meanwhile Francezka had not forgotten her friend, Captain
Babache, but often sent me kind messages. Through Gaston Cheverny, I
knew quite well all that passed at the chateau of Capello. I was
concerned to know what had become of that prince of rascals, Jacques
Haret. At last I heard of him, and to my great satisfaction. It was
after Gaston's return from his annual visit to Brabant in the autumn
of 1732. It was the first thing he told me, on his arrival, as we
walked up and down the gardens of the Luxembourg on a drear November
afternoon. He had but just reached Paris.

"God be praised, Babache, I have met Jacques Haret and given him the
handsomest drubbing imaginable," he said.

"Thank God,"