because I have been where powder was
flashing! You can ride well, of course?"

"I defy the wildest Limousin to shake me in my saddle."

"And as a swordsman, what are you?"

"Gros Jean calls me his best pupil."

"Ah, true! you have Gros Jean here; the best 'sabreur' in France! And
here you are--a horseman, and one of Gros Jean's 'eleves'--rotting away
life in Nancy! Have you any friends in the service?"

"Not one."

"Not one! Nor relations, nor connections?"

"None. I am Irish by descent. My family are only French by one
generation."

"Irish? Ah! that's lucky too," said he. "Our colonel is an Irishman. His
name is Mahon. You're certain of getting your leave now. I'll present
you to him to-morrow. We are to halt two days here, and before that is
over, I hope you'll have made your last caracole in the riding-school of
Nancy."

"But remember," cried I, "that although Irish by family, I have never
been there. I know nothing of either the people or the language; and do
not present me to the general as his countryman."

"I'll call you by your name, as a soldier of the 9th Hussars; and leave
you to make out your claim as countrymen, if you please, together."

This course was now agreed upon, and after some further talking, my
friend, refusing all my offers of a bed, coolly wrapped his cloak about
him, and, with his head on the table, fell fast asleep, long before I
had ceased thinking over his stories and his adventures in camp and
battle-field.

CHAPTER VIII.

"TRONCHON."

My duties in the riding-school were always over before mid-day, and as
noon was the hour appointed by the young lieutenant to present me to his
colonel, I was ready by that time, and anxiously awaiting his arrival. I
had done my best to smarten up my uniform, and make all my accoutrements
bright and glistening. My scabbard was polished like silver, the steel
front on my shako shone like a mirror, and the tinsel lace of my jacket
had undergone a process of scrubbing and cleaning that threatened its
very existence. My smooth chin and beardless upper lip, however, gave me
a degree of distress, that all other deficiencies failed to inflict: I
can dare to say, that no mediaeval gentleman's bald spot ever cost _him_
one half the misery, as did my lack of mustache occasion _me_. "A hussar
without beard, as well without spurs or sabretasche;" a tambour major
without his staff, a cavalry charger without a tail, couldn't be more
ridiculous: and th