Then once more did I recognize the old spirit of the army. Joyous
songs and gay cheers were heard from the different corps we passed.
The announcement of a speedy meeting with the Prussians had infused new
vigor among the troops. We were emerging from the deep shade of the wood
into a valley, where a light infantry regiment were bivouacked. Their
fires were formed in a wide circle, and the cooking went merrily on,
amid the pleasant song and jocund cries.

Our own brief halt was just concluded, when the bugles sounded to resume
the march; and I stood for a moment admiring the merry gambols of
the infantry, when an air I well remembered was chanted forth in full
chorus. But my memory was not left long in doubt as to where and how
these sounds were first heard. The wild uproar at once recalled both, as
they sang out,--

"Hurrah for the Faubourg of St. Antoine!"

No sooner did I hear the words, than I spurred my horse forward and rode
down towards them.

"What regiment's yours, Comrade?" said I, to a fellow hurrying to the
ranks.

"The Fifth, mon officier," said he, "Voltigeurs of the Line."

"Have you a certain Francois, a maitre d'armes, still among you?"

"Yes, that we have. There he is yonder, beating time to the roulade."

I looked in the direction he pointed, and there stood my old friend. He
was advanced in front of a company, and with the air of a tambour-major
he seemed as if he was giving time to the melody.

"Ah, _sacre_ conscripts that ye are!" cried he, as with his fist
clenched he gesticulated fiercely towards them; "can't ye keep the
measure? Once, now, and all together:--

"'Picardy first, and then--."

"Halloo, Maitre Francois! can you remember an old friend?"

The little man turned suddenly, and bringing his hand to the salute,
remained stiff and erect, as if on parade.

"Connais pas, mon capitaine," was his answer, after a considerable
pause.

"What! not know me!--me, whom you made one of your own gallant company,
calling me 'Burke of Ours'?"

"Ah, _par la barbe de Saint Pierre!_ is this my dear comrade of the
Eighth? Why, where have you been? They said you left us forever and
aye."

"I tried it, Francois; but it wouldn't do."

"Mille bombes!" said he; "but you 're back in pleasant times,--to see
the Cossacks learning to drink champagne, and leave us to pay the score.
Come along, however; take your old place here. You are free to choose
now, and needn't be a dragoon any longer; not