night plunder that swept the country bare as
a table-rock in an hour, and made the colons surrender every hidden
treasure, from a pot of gold to a hen's eggs, from a caldron of
couscoussou to a tom-cat.

There was Alcide Echauffourees, also a Zephyr, who had his nickname from
the marvelous changes of costume with which he would pursue his erratic
expedition, and deceive the very Arabs themselves into believing him a
born Mussulman; a very handsome fellow, the Lauzun of his battalion,
the Brummel of his Caserne; coquette with his kepi on one side of his
graceful head, and his mustaches soft as a lady's hair; whose paradise
was a score of dangerous intrigues, and whose seventh heaven was a duel
with an infuriated husband; incorrigibly lazy, but with the Italian
laziness, as of the panther who sleeps in the sun, and with such
episodes of romance, mischief, love, and deviltry in his twenty-five
years of existence as would leave behind them all the invention of
Dumas, pere ou fils.

All these and many more like them were the spectators of Cigarette's
ballet; applauding with the wild hurrah of the desert, with the clashing
of spurs, with the thunder of feet, with the demoniac shrieks of
irrepressible adoration and delight.

And every now and then her bright eyes would flash over the ring of
familiar faces, and glance from them with an impatient disappointment
as she danced; her gros bebees were not enough for her. She wanted a
Chasseur with white hands and a grave smile to be among them; and she
shook back her curls, and flushed angrily as she noted his absence, and
went on with the pirouettes, the circling flights, the wild, resistless
abandonment of her inspirations, till she was like a little desert-hawk
that is intoxicated with the scent of prey borne down upon the wind, and
wheeling like a mad thing in the transparent ether and the hot sun-glow.

L'As de Pique was the especial estaminet of the chasses-marais. He
was in the house; she knew it; had she not seen him drinking with some
others, or rather paying for all, but taking little himself, just as she
entered? He was in the house, this mysterious Bel-a-faire-peur--and was
not here to see her dance! Not here to see the darling of the Douars;
the pride of every Chacal, Zephyr, and Chasseur in Africa; the Amie
du Drapeau, who was adored by everyone, from Chefs de Bataillons to
fantassins, and toasted by every drinker, from Algiers to Oran, in the
Champagne of Messieu