run like deer as soon as we showed our faces. And at Sebastopol, sir,
_fichtre_! you wouldn't have said it was the pleasantest place in the
world. The wind blew fit to take a man's hair out by the roots, it was
cold enough to freeze a brass monkey, and those beggars kept us on a
continual dance with their feints and sorties. Never mind; we made
them dance in the end; we danced them into the big hot frying pan, and
to quick music, too! And Solferino, you were not there, sir! then why
do you speak of it? Yes, at Solferino, where it was so hot, although I
suppose more rain fell there that day than you have seen in your whole
life, at Solferino, where we had our little brush with the Austrians,
it would have warmed your heart to see how they vanished before our
bayonets, riding one another down in their haste to get away from us,
as if their coat tails were on fire!"

He laughed the gay, ringing laugh of the daredevil French soldier; he
seemed to expand and dilate with satisfaction. It was the old story:
the French trooper going about the world with his girl on his arm and
a glass of good wine in his hand; thrones upset and kingdoms conquered
in the singing of a merry song. Given a corporal and four men, and
great armies would bite the dust. His voice suddenly sank to a low,
rumbling bass:

"What! whip France? We, whipped by those Prussian pigs, we!" He came
up to Weiss and grasped him violently by the lapel of his coat. His
entire long frame, lean as that of the immortal Knight Errant, seemed
to breathe defiance and unmitigated contempt for the foe, whoever he
might be, regardless of time, place, or any other circumstance.
"Listen to what I tell you, sir. If the Prussians dare to show their
faces here, we will kick them home again. You hear me? we will kick
them from here to Berlin." His bearing and manner were superb; the