CHAPTER VIII
THE GREY MUSKETEERS
A bugler, thirteen years of age, and about three feet high,
a veritable "Child of the Regiment," was blowing "The
Assembly" for the Grey Musketeers with a vigour that
made itself heard through the adjoining Faubourg.
The miniature soldier, who had already smelt powder, strutted and swelled like a bantam-cock. His plumage, too, was nearly as gorgeous, and he seemed more than satisfied with himself and his advantages. In no other country, perhaps, could a combination so ridiculous, yet so admirable, have been found as in this union of innocence and precocity; this simplicity of the child, underlying the bearing of a giant, the courage of a hero, and the coquetry of a girl.
Ten minutes precisely were allowed by the regulations of the late king between the mustering call and the "fall-in," or final summons for the men to take their places in the ranks.
The Musketeers lounged and straggled over their parade-*ground, laughing, chatting, bantering each other; fastening here a buckle, there a shoulder-strap; humming snatches of bivouac songs, fixing flints, adjusting belts, and pulling their long moustaches, as they conversed, disrespectfully enough it must be admitted, in hoarse, short murmurs of Vendôme, Villeroy, Staremberg, Prince Eugene, Malbrook, the great military authorities of the day, and how old Turenne would have arranged them one and all.
The Grey Musketeers were so called from their uniform, which, except for its sober hue, shone as splendid as was compatible with the possibility of manœuvring. The men
