Bella alone wished to hear about the war. It was not alone that her interest was excited for her brother, but in the great events of that great struggle her enthusiastic spirit found ample material for admiration. Conway related many heroic achievements, not alone of British soldiers, but of French and even Russians. Gallantry, as he said, was of no nation in particular,--there were brave fellows everywhere; and he told, with all the warmth of honest admiration, how daringly the enemy dashed into the lines at night and confronted certain death, just for the sake of causing an interruption to the siege, and delaying, even for a brief space, the advance of the works. Told, as these stories were, with all the freshness which actual observation confers, and in a spirit of unexaggerated simplicity, still old Kellett heard them with the peevish jealousy of one who felt that they were destined to eclipse in their interest the old scenes of Spain and Portugal. That any soldiers lived nowadays like the old Light Division, that there were such fellows as the fighting Fifth, or Crawfurd's Brigade, no man should persuade him; and when he triumphantly asked if they had n't as good a general as Sir Arthur Welles-ley, he fell back, laughing contemptuously at the idea of such being deemed war at all, or the expedition, as he would term it, being styled a campaign. “Remember, Captain Kellett, we had a fair share of your old Peninsular friends amongst us,--gallant veterans, who had seen everything from the Douro to Bayonne.” “Well, and did n't they laugh at all this? did n't they tell you fairly it was not fighting?” “I 'm not so sure they did,” said Conway, laughing good-naturedly. “Gordon told an officer in my hearing, that the charge up the heights at the Alma reminded him strongly of Harding's ascent of the hills at Albuera.” “No, no, don't say that; I can't stand it!” cried Kellett, peevishly; “sure if it was only that one thinks they were Frenchmen--Frenchmen, with old Soult at their head--at Albuera--” “There's nothing braver than a Russian, sir, depend on 't,” said the youth, with a slight warmth in his tone. “Brave if you like; but, you see, he isn't a soldier by nature, like the Frenchman; and yet we beat the French, thrashed him from the sea to the Pyrenees, and over the Pyrenees into France.” “What's the odds? You'd not do it again; or, if you did, not get Nap to abdicate. I 'd like to have two thousand to fifty on the double event,” said Beecher, chuckling over an imaginary betting-book. “And why not do it again?” broke in Bella. “Is it after listening to what we have heard this evening that we have cause for any faint-heartedness about the spirit of our soldiery? Were Cressy or Agincourt won by braver fellows than now stand entrenched around Sebastopol?” “I don't like it; as Grog says, 'never make a heavy book on a waiting race!'” “I conclude, then,” said Conway, “you are one of those who augur ill of our success in the present war?”