t the Emperor's troops to respect a charge of English horse.
It was teaching their fox to set traps for them."

Lord Ormont indicated a chair. He stood.

"The French had good cavalry leaders," Weyburn said, for cover to a
continued study of the face,

"Montbrun, yes: Murat, Lassalle, Bessieres. Under the Emperor they had."

"You think them not at home in the saddle, my lord?"

"Frenchmen have nerves; horses are nerves. They pile excitement too
high. When cool, they're among the best. None of them had head for
command of all the arms."

"One might say the same of Seidlitz and Ziethen?"

"Of Ziethen. Seidlitz had a wider grasp, I suppose." He pursed his
month, pondering. "No; and in the Austrian service, too; generals
of cavalry are left to whistle for an independent command. There's a
jealousy of our branch!" The injured warrior frowned and hummed. He
spoke his thought mildly: "Jealousy of the name of soldier in this
country! Out of the service, is the place to recommend. I'd have advised
a son of mine to train for a jockey rather than enter it. We deal with
that to-morrow, in my papers. You come to me? Mr. Abner has arranged
the terms? So I see you at ten in the morning. I am glad to meet a young
man--Englishman--who takes an interest in the service."

Weyburn fancied the hearing of a step; he heard the whispering dress. It
passed him; a lady went to the armchair. She took her seat, as she had
moved, with sedateness, the exchange of a toneless word with my lord.
She was a brune. He saw that when he rose to do homage.

Lord Ormont resumed: "Some are born to it, must be soldiers; and in
peace they are snubbed by the heads; in war they are abused by the
country. They don't understand in England how to treat an army; how to
make one either!

"The gentleman--Mr. Weyburn: Mr. Arthur Abner's recommendation," he
added hurriedly, with a light wave of his hand and a murmur, that might
be the lady's title; continuing: "A young man of military tastes should
take service abroad. They're in earnest about it over there. Here
they play at it; and an army's shipped to land without commissariat,
ambulances, medical stores, and march against the odds, as usual--if it
can march!

"Albuera, my lord?"

"Our men can spurt, for a flick o' the whip. They're expected to be
constantly ready for doing prodigies--to repair the country's omissions.
All the country cares for is to hope Dick Turpin may get to York. Our
men are good beas