“Well, and did n't they laugh at all this? did n't they tell you fairly it was not fighting?”
“I 'm not so sure they did,” said Conway, laughing good-naturedly. “Gordon told an officer in my hearing, that the charge up the heights at the Alma reminded him strongly of Harding's ascent of the hills at Albuera.”
“No, no, don't say that; I can't stand it!” cried Kellett, peevishly; “sure if it was only that one thinks they were Frenchmen—Frenchmen, with old Soult at their head—at Albuera—”
“There's nothing braver than a Russian, sir, depend on 't,” said the youth, with a slight warmth in his tone.
“Brave if you like; but, you see, he isn't a soldier by nature, like the Frenchman; and yet we beat the French, thrashed him from the sea to the Pyrenees, and over the Pyrenees into France.”
“What's the odds? You'd not do it again; or, if you did, not get Nap to abdicate. I 'd like to have two thousand to fifty on the double event,” said Beecher, chuckling over an imaginary betting-book.
“And why not do it again?” broke in Bella. “Is it after listening to what we have heard this evening that we have cause for any faint-heartedness about the spirit of our soldiery? Were Cressy or Agincourt won by braver fellows than now stand entrenched around Sebastopol?”
“I don't like it; as Grog says, 'never make a heavy book on a waiting race!'”
“I conclude, then,” said Conway, “you are one of those who augur ill of our success in the present war?”
“I 'd not stake an even fifty, on either side,” said Beecher, who had shrewd suspicions that it was what he 'd have called a “cross,” and that Todleben and Lord Raglan could make “things comfortable” at any moment. “I see Miss Bella's of my mind,” added he, as he perceived a very peculiar smile just parting her lips.