Not until two o'clock did the Duke arrive, and by that time all the polishing was done, and the cavalry -was drawn up in three imposing lines, facing the bridge. Lining the bank of the river were the Hussars, in squadrons, widely spaced, and with batteries of horse Artillery on each flank; behind them stood the heavy Dragoons in compact order, with four batteries behind behind them, in the same close formation, the Light Dragoons flanked by troops of 9-pounders. There were six thousand men drawn up, and it was small natter for wonder that Marshal Blucher was impressed by the sight. He rode beside the Duke, his blue eyes staring under bushy white brows, and a beaming smile under his long moustache. "Mein Gott, mein Gott!" he said. "Ja, ja, it is goot - it is fery goot, mein frient!"
The troops, sweating under a scorching sun, choked by their high, tight collars, sat their chargers like statues, gazing rigidly before them, while the cortege passed slowly along the ranks. They knew the Duke's hook nose and low cocked hat right enough; they knew Lord Uxbridge, in his hussar dress; and Sir George Wood, who commanded the Artillery; they even knew the Duke of Brunswick, and guessed that the stout old gentleman with the white whiskers was Marshal Blucher; but who the rest of the fine gentlemen might be, in their plumed hats and fancy foreign uniforms. they neither knew nor cared. One or two old soldiers recognised General Alava, but Generals Gneisenau, Kleist, and Ziethen, Pozzo di Bongo, and Baron Vincent, Counts van Reede, and d'Aglie, exclaiming in outlandish tongues among themselves, did not concernn them. They thought the Marshal Prince von Blucher a rum touch if ever there was one, opening his bone-box to splutter out his Achs, and his Mein Gotts, and his Fery Goots!
But the Marshal Prince was enjoying himself. He had come over from Tirlemont with his chief-of-staff, and several of his generals, for this occasion, and his friend and colleague had given them a very good luncheon, sent on their horses to Ninove and driven them out from Brussels in comfortable carriages. He was on the best of terms with his colleague, and although he spoke very little English, and very bad French, they had a great deal of conversation together, and found themselves perfectly in accord. A hussar himself, he was loud in praise of the hussars drawn up before him; as for the Heavy Dragoons, quell physiques, quels beaux chevaux! Indeed, the horses impressed him more than anything. When he came to Mercer's troop, there seemed to be no getting him past it; each subdivision was inspected, every horse exclaimed at. "Mein Gott, dere is not von vich is not goot for Veldt-Marshal!" he declared.
The Duke acknowledged it. It was not to be expected that he would share in the Marshal's rapture, but he asked Sir George Wood whose troop it was, and seemed to approve of it. It did not occur to him to speak to Captain Mercer, following him as he made the inspection. He paid no heed to him, but Mercer was not surprised: it was just like the Duke; he had never a ood word for the unfortunate Artillery. The inspection took a long time; some of the spectators grew rather bored with looking at the motionless ranks, and several ladies complained of the heat. Sir Peregrine Taverner, whose Harriet was in low spirits and had refused to attend the review, edged his way to Barbara's phaeton; and Lady Worth, her head :thing a little from the glare of the sun, closed her eyes, with a request to her lord to inform her if anything should begin to happen.
The Duke and the Marshall at last returned to the saluting point; Lord Uxbridge marched the troops past; Judith woke up; and all the wilting ladies revived at the near prospect of being able to move out of the sun and partake of refreshments.
The military cortege began to move about among the civilians before riding back to Ninove. Various persons were presented to the Marshal Prince; and Colonel Audley was able to seize the opportunity of exchanging a few words with Lady Barbara.
"How do you contrive to look so cool?" he asked ruefully.
"I can't think. I'm bored to tears, Charles!"
"I know. Devilish tedious, isn't it?"
"I only came to see George, and I couldn't even pick him out in that dreadful scarlet mass!" she said pettishly.