only a grand sight as far as they were concerned; for our fellows fired at them as coolly as if they had been in Hyde Park or at Weeley. Sometimes their sabres came quite in amongst us; but it was only for the poor beggars to be shot down on the instant. Little Jones did a fine thing; his sword had been knocked out of his hand, and when one of the Frenchmen rode straight for him, he just lifted off his shako as cool as you please, and flung it straight in his face. Our old colour-sergeant burst out laughing, and knocked the man off his horse with a bullet as quick as lightning. But this wasn't the only time they came up with us. How often they did I can't say, for we were all smothered up with the smoke; and sometimes the stragglers, when the others rode off, would make a plucky dash at us, as if any manner of good could be got

out of that.

"I think we shall get off with whole skins, after all," said little Jones; "and I wish I could pick up one of those fellow's helmets, or I shall get a deuce of a cold before the evening's over."

"This sort of thing went on for ever so long. But at last, when we got a glimpse of the sun, and could see that it was getting its evening colour, we heard down away to the left the shouts of our fellows quite loud above the noise of the gun. An aide rode up to the colonel, and he shouted at the top of his voice,

"It's all right, my lads; we've got the rascals at last."

'So we had won the battle, after all. Then, for the first time, we were ordered to advance. Over the ridge we went. To the right we could see the Guards going straight at the Frenchmen; but before us the Mounseers were scuttling away like mad, and our precious-2d had not the luck to get near them.

We were halted down the road past La Haye Sainte. We've had more luck than most of the fellows. But glad enough was I to lie down to sleep at last. The fire could blaze away in the distance as much as it liked; it went further and further off; but with all the noise, I could not keep my eyes open, and all who had sound skins were fast asleep as soon as they got the chance. And that's all I know about it, Colonel.'

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

A QUIET CORNER.

WHEN Jack had finished his recital, the Colonel took a pinch of snuff and smiled dryly.

'You are neither a Turenne nor a Gibbon, my lad, and you will neither be a field-marshal nor a great raconteur; however, you have told me a pretty story. But how long are you going to be here?'

'We start for Nivelles and halt there for the night, and then on through Mons into France; at least, Jones says so, and he always knows everything; but we may be at Nivelles some little while: there's no knowing what may be done.'

The 2d had moved away from their old bivouac, and had advanced some way down the Nivelles road. They were now by an old farmhouse, which, for aught I know to the contrary, stands there at the present day. It was a quaint little homestead of red brick, rather a wonder for that part of the world, and stood in a little hollow, in company with a deep pond and a long orchard. Like as a whirlwind sometimes will lay a whole village in ruins, and yet leave a poor rickety haystack standing, so had the great battle swept over the miles of country with its storm of devastation, and yet had spared the home of the half-Walloon, half

Flemish peasants. None of the wounded lay that way, and all signs of the battle-field were hidden by the great ridge of stillstanding corn which rose before it. The green apples were shining on the trees, the bees were humming about the barn-bean hedges, and a patient mild-eyed cow was browsing on the tiny patch of moist pasture. On the drier grass Tommy Atkins and his comrades were stretched at their ease, smoking their pipes and drinking their mugs of sour beer, with as much relish as if they had been in the snug, warm, to them charming, little tap of the Chatham alehouse, or the canteen at Weeley. The men were too tired to talk much, and were all in a state of half-lazy dozing enjoyment. We have had battle-pieces by the hundred of the great fight, yet no one seems to have devoted his genius to that morning of the 19th. M. Horace Vernet, being a patriotic Gaul, would not have cared to paint a picture entitled, 'Comfort of the British after the Battle of Waterloo.' It would have covered the canvas prettily enough, but that chef d'œuvre was never attempted. It was reserved, however, for worthy Captain Mercer to give a very charming word-picture, which you can find in that chatty little journal of his, that contains more amusing passages than all the close print of Siborne and of Charras.

The Colonel and his young friend had strolled over from Hougoumont. The Colonel, like a wise old warrior as he was, had brought a wallet of provisions with him, and he was not the only Briton who had done so; for, oddly enough, that morning the horrors of the field had not prevented a small stock of sightseers coming from Brussels, who looked upon the whole ghastly business as a raree-show, arranged for their special benefit. So the

two gentlemen sat down on the grass and commenced their meal.

'I left Hetty well enough," said the old East Indian satrap. 'She had heard the good news, and doubtless is happy enough for the present. She has a good heart, has that little girl, and did not wish to run off like the parson's daughter.'

'Was she much upset?' asked honest Jack. 'It's nice to have some one to care for you.'

'It isn't over nice for those who have to care for the upset ones,' replied the father. There has been as much wailing in the Montagne as at a Bombay native school when the girls are practised in howling, in the hopes that they may have the chance of showing off at the death of some near and dear and well-to-do relation.'

'But you wouldn't have 'em not upset?' contended Mr. Jack, who was hard at work at a chicken. 'People should have hearts of some sort.'

'And they should have heads too,' replied the Colonel; and I ought never to have allowed Hetty to be the betrothed of a young warrior who might be knocked on the head at any moment.'

So they chatted on, merrily and happily, for the sky was bright over head, and the air was filled with sweet scents, and they thought little enough of the great trenches which were being dug for the thousands that would never see that sky again, nor smoke the pipe of peace, nor see the familiar faces in the old country.

At one end of the orchard there was a wide garden seat, which was shaded with an attempt at an alcove of rough bushes. On the bench was seated an officer in the green coat of the Chasseurs. He had an arm in a sling, and there was a bandage over his head. Yet he was calmly smoking a cigar as if nothing had happened.

The Colonel looked towards him and said, 'He takes it coolly enough, and may think himself lucky he is with us. Between here and Paris he might have a capital chance of a bullet, which would settle him for once and all.'

'I shouldn't like to be a prisoner myself,' answered Jack. 'I remember when I was locked up once at Marlow, after a good thrashing by the usher. Didn't I look out of the window at the other fellows, and groan and all that! And this must be very much the same, only on a bigger scale. He's a fine looking fellow, isn't he? I wonder if he has had a chance to get anything to eat? We might spare him a bit.'

The Colonel nodded, and Jack walked up to the prisoner, thinking how he might best put his indifferent French together, and make up by courtesy for any little shortcomings in the rules of grammar and of idiom.

'Monsieur,' he began, and then noticed that the officer seemed very startled, and stared him hard in the face.

'Monsieur,' said Jack.

But the officer broke into a halflaugh, and, holding out his hand, answered in very excellent English,

"Tis Monsieur Hedley, my old enemy. You seem to have forgotten me.'

'Hang me if it isn't the Count ! Why, D'Epinelle!' cried Jack.

'Hang is an unpleasant word, as far as I am concerned, monsieur. Spy and hang go together; but I hope to be free of rope and bullet all the same. If you can play the generous hero, Monsieur Hedley, do not recognise me before your comrades. This bandage is as good a mask as any one could have. If I could be moved from your gallant regiment, I might keep my secret with but little care, and save my life, which, perhaps, monsieur

may very well think is one too valuable.'

'I bear you no ill-will,' said Jack; and it would be little fun to me to know that you came to harm. That duel was a stupid business. You had but been drinking, and I was only a hot-headed fool. I can shake hands, monsieur, and bear but little malice. Better times will come to you; at least, I trust so.'

'You are different from those of your own blood,' answered the Frenchman. That cousin of yours is a coquin who deserves the rope.

'I would rather you would not say so,' said Jack. What has befallen him I don't know. We missed poor Harry at Quatre Bras. God knows if he be alive now; and if he be dead it is best to leave the dead alone.'

The Count looked up with a curious smile.

'You have a good heart,' he answered, as he knocked the ash from the end of his cigar. 'You have a good heart, but you have not the good head to know your enemies from your friends; and he is an enemy to himself and to all others. You have played the preux chevalier to me, and will do so again. Your cousin knew that I was playing the diplomatist-ch bien! let me tell the whole truthand my playing the spy for Master Buonaparte. Your cousin took moneys from me. Your cousin supplied me with that very handsome coat of yours, which proved such a fine disguise for some of my comrades, who served their country by prowling about your cantonments. Your cousin, monsieur, if this were known, would be, perhaps, made happy by the same sort of rope or bullet that might be my fate. Beware of that cousin of yours! The weak are always dangerous. He had not of the good faith with his own; he had still less with me.'

Jack looked around him with a pained smile. He was no Napoleon at great devices, no Talleyrand in tact, no Fouché in cunning. What could be done with his cousin? What might befall him?

'I will make a bargain, Count,' he said. Be you silent about Harry; I will be silent about you.'

'His case is worse than mine,' replied the French gentleman; 'but little love I owe him. By Gemioncourt did he mark me out with his pistol. It was well or ill that my horse stumbled on the heavy field, or that bullet would have passed through my head in place of my arm. I am indeed fortunate to be wounded thus by two gallant gentlemen of the same family; but I will accept the bargain, and thanks, as I saw what you came back for. I will keep bond with you; only not with that old Indian.

His eye is sharper than a hawk's, and he bears no love to Frenchmen, still less to the Count d'Epinelle. There is some little wine in the house; I shall go within doors, and you will bemean yourself by bringing me the food, for I am faint and almost starving.'

Then the Count walked slowly away, and Jack returned to his companion.

'You have had a long talk with the Frenchman,' said the Colonel. 'Poor man, he must be in a bad strait enough.'

'He is,' answered Jack, not caring to let his tongue go tripping; and he took the food to the hapless prisoner.

By this time some of the men on the lawn had succumbed to the genial heat, and had fallen fast asleep. The bronzed faces moved uneasily; and now and again a strong hand could be seen clutching the turf, as if they fought the battle over again in their dreams. So some half an hour passed, until the brave little Jones entered by the wicket-gate.

'We have had the order,' he said, 'and start for Nivelles at four o'clock. Why, Colonel, it can't be you!'

CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE TRIUMPHAL MARCH.

THE true Briton has quite as much liking for honest braggadocio as his son across the Atlantic. After the great news had reached Brussels, glorification and selfcomplacency were written on every British face. Those who could get neither coach nor cart to travel from the little capital now made it appear that it was their doughty valour alone which had kept them behind, and that the white feather was an ornament they would never have been at all likely to have adorned their valiant brows with. There were not over many of them, it is true; but swagger and grand looks might have constituted them a million-thick city. In the park their heads were held the highest; in the salle à manger of the D'Arenberg their voices could have been heard above all others. The lion of England had become a king indeed, and was disposed to roar so that no one could have the least doubt about his greatness and his omnipotence. Gentlemen who had passed the best part of the night in their clothes, shivering with fear, now put on faces such as might have struck terror in the heart of an iron Cæsar.

'One Englishman,' Mr. Snooks of the City would boast over his second bottle, 'is as good as any dozen Frenchmen. We swept 'em before us like a lot of rats." (As if he, Mr. Snooks, had as much to do with it all as honest Tommy Atkins, who was perhaps now minus arm or leg, or even lying under the clay soil of the Brabant cornfield.) cornfield.) 'I was certain we should do it all along.'

A very good remark of Mr. Snooks, indeed; and doubtless the fact that he had had a yearning desire to pass the night in the woodcellar of his hotel had nothing whatever to do with a lack of courage, but simply arose from the fact that the night was warm, and it was cooler there than up-stairs. As to Brussels folk, they could not understand the situation in the least. Could these beer drinking, smooth-shaven citizens, who paid their way, and did not annoy any one in true heroic fashion--could they have overturned the heroes of the great Jupiter of Corsica ? It was hardly to be believed, yet all the same it was a perfectly uncontradictable fact.' They went about their work, then, in a halfhearted fashion; they became more mild and deferential, and forgot to rob the countrymen of the gallant conquerors as they usually did, so utterly unstrung were they at the unexpected result. Some of them even had such an implicit belief in the fortunate star of the Emperor that they tried to pretend that the general stampede was really only a scientific retreat, made for some wily reasons; and that possibly Grouchy or Ney would make a sudden appearance at the gates, and alter everything to what it should have been according to their sapient calculations.

On the Montagne, Miss Hetty had passed the day very happily; and when the Colonel had returned in the evening, he had found the tears of happiness rising to her eyes.

'If you have the courage, my dear, we might post our way to Mons, where the -2d will halt tomorrow; and you could see your hero with your own eyes, before he goes to Paris and revels in the smiles of beauty, and loses his heart and his money in the great capital.'

'Jack will neither do one nor the other,' answered Miss Hetty. 'Jack would never be false to me, and you know it, father. And now tell me how he looked, and all about it.'

So the Colonel sat with his little daughter on his knee, and gave up his cigar, that he might the better contemplate her pretty face, and perhaps not choke her with the smoke; for he was a considerate father as well as an honest gentle

man.

'Jack,' he said, 'was not looking so lovely as he might have done.'

'He was ill,' cried Miss Hetty, turning pale.

'No, he was not, my dear; he had one of the healthiest appetites imaginable, and thoroughly enjoyed what that skilful old campaigner your worthy father had brought him to eat. Jack had an excessively dirty face, my dear; for he had neither water nor towels, nor any of Truefitt's best things to make him lovely. His coat was stained with clay; he had three or four days' beard upon his youthful cheeks; his hands would have rivalled a sweep's; and his boots would have been scorned by a field-labourer.'

'But for all that he looked very handsome, didn't he, papa?' and Miss Hetty blushed with pleasure.

Handsome is that handsome does!' continued the kind parent. 'Jack had neither overthrown the whole of the Cuirassiers with his single arm; he had not captured Napoleon; but he had played his part properly, and so, of course, he looked it.'

Miss Hetty put her pretty arm around the old gentleman's neck.

'You know you love him and admire him as much as I do, only you are ashamed to say so. I think it is very mean indeed, papa.'