‘Yes, sir; they were all that General Soult could spare us.’
‘Fine-looking fellows they are,’ said De Barre, scanning them through his glass. ‘The third company is a little, a very little to the rear—don’t you perceive it?—and the flank is a thought or so restless and unsteady.’
‘A sergeant has just been carried to the rear ill, sir,’ said a young officer, in a low voice.
‘The heat, I have no douht; a colpo di sole, as they tell us everything is,’ said De Barre. ‘By the way, is not this the regiment that boasts the pretty vivandière? What’s this her name is?’
‘Lela, sir.’
‘Yes, to be sure, Lela. I’m sure I’ve heard her toasted often enough at cafés and restaurants.’
‘There she is, sir, yonder, sitting on the steps of the fountain’; and the officer made a sign with his sword for the girl to come over. She made an effort to arise at the order, but tottered back, and would have fallen if a soldier had not caught her. Then suddenly collecting her strength, she arranged the folds of her short scarlet jupe, and smoothing down the braids of her fair hair, came forward, at that sliding, half-skipping pace that is the wont of her craft.
The exertion, and possibly the excitement, had flushed her cheek, so that as she came forward her look was brilliantly handsome; but as the colour died away, and a livid pallor spread over her jaws, lank and drawn in by famine, her expression was dreadful. The large eyes, lustrous and wild-looking, gleaming with the fire of fever, while her thin nostrils quivered at each respiration.
Poor girl, even then, with famine and fever eating within her, the traits of womanly vanity still survived, and as she carried her hand to her cap in salute, she made a faint attempt at a smile.
‘The 22nd may indeed be proud of their vivandière,* said De Barre gallantly.