appeared in spots; so that when the coucou trundled along the narrow
strip of road from Saint-Denis to Pierrefitte, the sun had fairly
drunk up the last floating vapors of the diaphanous veil which swathed
the scenery of that famous region.

"Well, now, tell us why you left your friend the pacha," said Pere
Leger, addressing Georges.

"He was a very singular scamp," replied Georges, with an air that hid
a multitude of mysteries. "He put me in command of his cavalry,--so
far, so good--"

"Ah! that's why he wears spurs," thought poor Oscar.

"At that time Ali Tebelen wanted to rid himself of Chosrew pacha,
another queer chap! You call him, here, Chaureff; but the name is
pronounced, in Turkish, Cosserew. You must have read in the newspapers
how old Ali drubbed Chosrew, and soundly, too, faith! Well, if it
hadn't been for me, Ali Tebelen himself would have bit the dust two
days earlier. I was at the right wing, and I saw Chosrew, an old
sly-boots, thinking to force our centre,--ranks closed, stiff, swift,
fine movement a la Murat. Good! I take my time; then I charge,
double-quick, and cut his line in two,--you understand? Ha! ha! after
the affair was over, Ali kissed me--"

"Do they do that in the East?" asked the count, in a joking way.

"Yes, monsieur," said the painter, "that's done all the world over."

"After that," continued Georges, "Ali gave me yataghans, and carbines,