ttles, and hugging a dead Fleming for the bare
life."

Gerard shuddered. "And this is war; this is the chosen theme of poets
and troubadours, and Reden Ryckers. Truly was it said by the men of old,
dulce bellum inexpertis."

"Tu dis?"

"I say-oh, what stout hearts some men have!"

"N'est-ce pas, p'tit? So after that sort--thing--this sort thing is
heaven. Soft--warm--good company, comradancow--cou'age--diable--m-ornk!"

And the glib tongue was still for some hours.

In the morning Gerard was wakened by a liquid hitting his eye, and it
was Denys employing the cow's udder as a squirt.

"Oh, fie!" cried Gerard, "to waste the good milk;" and he took a horn
out of his wallet. "Fill this! but indeed I see not what right we have
to meddle with her milk at all."

"Make your mind easy! Last night la camarade was not nice; but what
then, true friendship dispenses with ceremony. To-day we make as free
with her."

"Why, what did she do, poor thing?"

"Ate my pillow."

"Ha! ha!"

"On waking I had to hunt for my head, and found it down in the stable
gutter. She ate our pillow from us, we drink our pillow from her. A
votre sante, madame; et sans rancune;" and the dog drank her milk to her
own health.

"The ancient was right though," said Gerard. "Never have I risen so
refreshed since I left my native land. Henceforth let us shun great
towns, and still lie in a convent or a cow-house; for I'd liever sleep
on fresh straw, than on linen well washed six months agone; and the
breath of kine it is sweeter than that of Christians, let alone the
garlic, which men and women folk affect, but cowen abhor from, and so do
I, St. Bavon be my witness!"

The soldier eyed him from head to foot: "Now but for that little tuft on
your chin I should take you for a girl; and by the finger-nails of St.
Luke, no ill-favoured one neither."

These three towns proved types and repeated themselves with slight
variations for many a weary league; but even when he could get neither a
convent nor a cow-house, Gerard learned in time to steel himself to
the inevitable, and to emulate his comrade, whom he looked on as almost
superhuman for hardihood of body and spirit.

There was, however, a balance to all this veneration.

Denys, like his predecessor Achilles, had his weak part, his very weak
part, thought Gerard.

His foible was "woman."

Whatever he was saying or doing, he stopped short at sight of a
farthingale, and his whole soul became