"Mustache," said one of the other officers, and all eyes turned toward the stuffed skin of a mongrel poodle dog mounted in a glass case hung against the wall. Hands went up in salute. Some of the soldiers laughed grimly.
"The brave Mustache," continued Grenier. "He leaped over my prostrate body. I was conscious still. I saw it all. I would have given worlds for strength, but I was helpless. Still Mustache was enough. He loved the port-aigle. He seemed to know the Eagle was in danger. He snapped at the hands of the Russian. The man drew back and cut at him with his sword. Perhaps I should have received that blow. You see where the forepaw of the dog was sliced off? But he had the spirit of a French soldier, that brave dog, and he kept them off until the regiment rallied and came back and drove away the Russians. Marshal Lannes had a collar made for Mustache. You can see it there around his neck, young gentlemen," continued the old Captain. "On one side the inscription reads: 'He lost a leg in the battle of Austerlitz but he saved the Eagle of his regiment.' On the other side: 'Mustache, a dog of France, who will be everywhere respected and honored as a brave soldier.'"
"What became of the dog?" asked another.
"He was carried on the roll of the regiment until he was killed by an English cannon ball at Badajos. We took the skin and it is there, but we buried the brave heart and the rest of him on the rampart where he fell. The soldiers put up a stone above him. 'Here lies the brave Mustache,' it read. I think the English left it standing."
"That Eagle has been in every capital of Europe, messieurs," remarked another veteran. "Rome, Berlin, Vienna, Madrid, Moscow."
"It charged with the Guard at Eylau," said Drehon. "You remember, comrades, some of you at least, how we went forward in support of the battalions of the Guard under General Dorsenne?"
"I remember, I remember," came from one and another.
"Hein," said a veteran, "he was a bold soldier."
"And a handsome one. They called him 'Le Beau Dorsenne,'" continued Drehon. "The Guard advanced at arms-aport and so did we. Our drums and theirs were rolling La Grenadière. One of his staff said to him as we drew near the ranks of the Russians, 'Hadn't we better begin firing, my General?' 'No,' said the proud Dorsenne haughtily. 'Grenadiers keep your arms aport,' he continued as he saw some wavering. 'The old guard only fights at the point of the bayonet.'"
"And what happened?"