It was with a beating heart that he found Mr. Wheeler, the adjutant, in making his minute and critical inspection, pause just in front of him. ‘Fall out,’ said the adjutant curtly; and Herbert scarcely knew whether to expect praise or blame. ‘Colonel’s orderly. Report yourself at his quarters after parade.’ Here was an honour indeed! To be selected on his first guard-mounting parade, as commanding officer’s orderly--a post which, apart from the privileges it brought of immunity from ‘sentry go’ and a sure night’s rest in bed, every private soldier in the regiment coveted and esteemed--was a compliment which Herbert, and Hanlon also, appreciated to the full. What befell the young orderly at Colonel Prioleau’s quarters must be reserved for another chapter. CHAPTER VII. A FRENCH LESSON. Herbert Larkins presented himself with some trepidation at the commanding officer’s quarters, a house outside, but not far from the barracks. The hall door was wide open, but he did not go in. The man whom he relieved told him ‘to patrol up and down in front of the house--that was all he had to do.’ This he did religiously for half an hour or more, and then he heard himself called from within. ‘Orderly!’ A clear, sweet voice it was; very musical in its intonation and very different from the gruff accents to which he had most recently been accustomed. ‘Orderly!’ again; this time much more sharply spoken, and with undoubted petulance. ‘How stupid! Why don’t you come when you’re called?’ and then the owner of the voice appeared. Mahomet had come to the mountain. A bright-faced beautiful child; a fair golden-haired girl, not yet in her teens, wearing a fresh pink and white frock, with pink ribbons in her sunny locks, and a pink silk handkerchief tied like a shawl over her shoulders and neck. Herbert took it all in at a glance, and remembered the picture for the rest of his life. A very imperious young person, evidently; she had honest kindly eyes, but her small nose slightly ‘tip tilted,’ and the upward curve of scorn in her lip indicated a proud, haughty nature, and the wilfulness of one who, though still a child, had everything always her own way. An only child, born late in their married life, Edith Prioleau ruled languid mother and doting father with a despotism against which they had neither the inclination nor power to protest. ‘Are you the orderly?’ she asked, almost stamping her foot. ‘Yes.’ ‘Yes? Yes--what?’ ‘Yes, I am.’ ‘Yes, _Miss_, you should say when you speak to me. Do you know who _I_ am? I am the colonel’s daughter.’ Whereat Herbert drew himself up, and saluted her formally with hand to cap, as though she were the commander-in-chief. ‘You’re only a recruit, I suppose?’ She spoke quite contemptuously. ‘I never saw you before. I don’t like strangers. I shall speak to Mr. Wheeler about it. How long have you been dismissed drill?’