Every lip was set; every cheek was flushed; every eye was sparkling as I gazed along the ranks of the chosen hundred cuirassiers, when the voice of our leader and the shrill twang of the trumpet bade us move, and when the contagious ardour ran from man to man and heart to heart along that Scottish line--Scottish in name and blood, and heart and soul--second to none in pride of race and chivalry. On, on we progressed from a trot to a gallop, and the ranks grew denser, holster to holster and boot to boot, as the horses closed upon each other; and like a stream of lightning, the hundred guardsmen poured forward in all their brilliant trappings, with uplifted swords and St. Andrew's cross waving on the wind, as Sir Archibald Douglas, of Heriotmuir, held it aloft in his stirrup. On, on we went, and though they were eight to one, the dark ranks of the reitres and lancers quailed and wavered before us! Headlong we rode at them, and plunged into the vapour made by the smoke of firearms mingled with the morning mist. This murky cloud seemed full of helmeted heads, of gauntleted hands, the bright points of levelled pikes, of brandished swords, and waving standards; while the air was laden with cries, tumultuous sounds, and the heavy odour of gunpowder. Now--now we are within arm's length of them-- There was a mighty shock as rearing horses and shrieking men went down on all sides of us, but we burst right through the heart of the foe, breaking their close array of horses' heads and cuirassed breasts; the dead and the dying marking our track as on right and left we hewed them down. Raynold Cheyne, Scott of Tushielaw, Dundrennan, and the Chevalier, were all fighting like the peers of Charlemagne, and each performed many acts of heroism. The Master of St. Monance, son of James Sandilands, Lord Abercrombie of Abercrombie, was struck on the breast by a shell, while riding next me. It was thrown from the citadel, and in exploding, blew his jaw off, but, singular to say, injured no one else. He gave a strange, half-smothered cry as his horse turned and fled; he was dragged by the stirrup down a steep ravine, and we never saw him more. Dagobert bore me bravely; but, bewildered by the fury of our advance and the concussion of the encounter, I knew not for a moment where I was, whether on earth on in upper air, so great was the din around me, until a sharp ringing blow on my helmet recalled my energies with all the instinct of self-preservation, and I found myself thrust somewhat out of the press, and opposed hand to hand to the young colonel--he in steel and scarlet velvet--whose valour we had observed for some time, and in whom I now recognised my Parisian acquaintance of the Place de la Grève, of the Château d'Amtoise, and latterly the abbé of the tavern at Sezanne--Monseigneur the Prince of Vaudemont--the son and heir of Lorraine! For a moment my confusion nearly destroyed me.