pleasure, Messieurs; to-morrow the wench whom you kiss to-night will strip you in the dusk of the victory and leave you to the mercy of the dogs, the spring frosts, and of God—the God of battles.

Yes, to-morrow there will surely be a great battle. Have not the actors promised it? “To-morrow no performance! The day after to-morrow a play in honour of the victory of Monseigneur le Maréchal de Saxe!” And before long there will be a Te Deum in the glorious aisles of the captured cathedral of Tournay.

André on his straw heap curled in his cloak dreamed of Denise, of the pleasant Loire, and of the Château de Beau Séjour when it should be his. Pest on the canaille and their trulls singing that lampoon at his elbow: “Une petite bourgeoise, Élevée à la grivoise Mesurant tout à la toise, Fait de la cour un taudis, dis, dis.” They were singing of no less a lady than the fair huntress and the King, the heroine of the crystal and the King’s handkerchief, “La Petite d’Étiolles,” who was now the heroine and jape of the streets of Paris. Strange, so strange. And he, too, had played his part in the drama of royal love: “Louis, malgré son scrupule, Froidement pour elle brûle, Et son amour ridicule, A fait rire tout Paris, ris, ris.”

His friend! And he would find her at Versailles no doubt when the campaign was over. How long would she stay there, this ambitious bourgeoise?"Monsieur le Lieutenant is sad." Some one had touched his arm. Ah! only a little _vivandière_ whom he did not recognise. "Monsieur le Vicomte has left his mistress behind and he is sad," she protested, kneeling beside him and peering with bright eyes into his ruffled visage. 

"Run away, my dear," André replied sleepily. "I am poor, tired, and in a sad temper." 

"And I am poor, fresh, and in a charming temper," she retorted. "If Monsieur le Vicomte has left his mistress behind there are still many women in the world. Here is one!" She began to hum the refrain of the song with the archest drollery: "A fait rire tout Paris, ris, ris." 

André sat up. An appetising little _vivandière_ this, name of a dog! Plump and most bravely tricked out in a military coat and short skirt which revealed what would have made two dancers' fortunes. 

"If I give you a kiss will you go?" he said good-humouredly. 

"Oh, no. The kisses of Monsieur le Vicomte are no better than those of most men, I suppose." 

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