“Revere, nonsense—they love me. Don’t I too have all the pleasure of the camp!”
“Yes, and who takes care of the camp?—who has a kind word and hand for a wounded man, while she gives the other hand to him who comes to help her?”
“Yes—and who is it fills your glasses—and sings you songs?”
“Yes—and who makes us happy?”
“Why, not the daughter of the regiment!”
“Oh—of course not!”
“Now—now—now—Sergeant—attention. Right about face. Ma-a-a-r-r-rch!”——
“Tum—tum—tum—Ra-ra-ra-ra.”
And so—drilling her drum—she and the sergeant march off to the camp.
Barely had they marched off from the neighborhood of the marquise, when following them or rather her, with his eyes, came a young Swiss—as handsome as you would have him, ladies—perfection.