The old warrior was hard put to; a sabre cut had knocked off his shako, and inflicted a wound on his high, bald forehead, slight indeed, but the blood from which, trickling into his eyes, nearly blinded him, and he was fain to leave go his reins to dash it away with his hand. The Arabs perceived their advantage, and pressed him hard, when I charged one of them in the flank, bringing the breast of my horse against the shoulder of his, and cutting at the same time at his head. Man and beast rolled upon the ground. M. de Bellechasse had scarcely time to observe, from whom the timely succour came, when I dashed in before him, and drew upon myself the fury of his remaining foe. Just then, to my infinite relief, I heard at a short distance a steady regular fire of musketry. It was the infantry, advancing to our support. The Arabs heard it also, and having had, for one day, a sufficient taste of French lead, beat a precipitate retreat, scouring away like phantoms, and disappearing in the gloom of the desert. I was triply recompensed for my share in this action, by honourable mention in general orders, by promotion to the rank of _maréchal de logis_—equivalent to troop sergeant-major in the English service—and by the personal thanks of my excellent old colonel, who shook me heartily by the hand, and swore ‘_Mille millions de sabres!_’ that after successfully guarding his head against Russian, Prussian, and Austrian, Englishman and Spaniard, he would have been ignominiously cut to pieces by a brace of black-faced heathens, but for my timely interposition. Since then, he has shown me unvarying kindness, for which I am indebted chiefly to my preservation of his life, but partly also to his high approval of the summary manner in which I upset, by a blow of my sabre and bound of my horse, one of his swarthy antagonists, reminding him, as he always mentions when telling the story, of a similar feat of his own when attacked on the Russian retreat by three gigantic Tartars from the Ukraine. Since we have been in garrison here, he has frequently had me at his house, nominally to assist in the arrangement of regimental accounts and orders, but in reality to take opportunities of rendering me small kindnesses; and latterly, I am inclined to think, a little, for the pleasure of talking to me of his old campaigns. He soon discovered, what he previously had some inkling of, that my original position in the world was superior to my present one; and I am not without hopes, from hints he has let fall, that he will, at no very distant day, procure my promotion to a cornetcy. These hopes and alleviations enable me to support, with tolerable patience and cheerfulness, the dull ordeal of a garrison life, seldom so pleasantly varied as by my meeting with you. And now, that I have inflicted my whole history upon you,” added Oakley, with a smile, “I must bid you good bye, for duty calls,—no longer, it is true, to action in the field,