his bearing, smacked of the old soldier, more, the old soldier of France, perhaps the most professional veteran in the world.
He was not so engrossed with his own thoughts, however, but that his eye gleamed with pleasure when a tan-coloured sage, intent on business, threw a square sagacious head into the air, proclaiming in full deep notes his discovery of the line, and solemn conviction that he was right. The horseman swore a good round garrison oath, and cheered the hound lustily. A cry of tuneful tongues pealed out to swell the harmony. A burst of music from a distant glade announced that the stag had passed yet farther on. A couple of royal foresters, in blue and red, arrived on foot, breathless, with fresh hounds struggling in the leash; and a lady on a Spanish barb, attended by a plainly-dressed ecclesiastic, came cantering down the glade to rein up at the veteran's side, with a smile of greeting on her face.
"Well met, Monsieur le Prince, once more," said she, flashing a look from her dark eyes, under which, old as he was, he lowered his own. "Always the same—always successful. In the Court—in the camp—in the ball-room—in the field—if you seek the Prince-Marshal, look in the most forward post, and you will find him."
She owed him some reparation for having driven him from her side in a fit of ill-humour half an hour before, and this was her way of making amends.
"I have won posts in my time, madame," said the old soldier, an expression of displeasure settling once more on his high worn features, "and held them, too, without dishonour. It is perhaps no disgrace to be worsted by a woman, but it is humiliating and unpleasant all the same."
"Dishonour and disgrace are words that can never be coupled with the name of Chateau-Guerrand," returned the lady, smiling sweetly in his face, a process that appeared to mollify him considerably. Then she completed his subjection by caressing her horse with one hand, while she reined him in so sharply with the other, that he rose on his hind-legs as if to rear straight on end.
"You are a hard mistress, madame," said the gentleman, looking at the beautiful barb chafing and curveting to its bit.
