Our horses seemed to have understood what we were about. Or was it we who had passed on to them the fighting spirit that fired us? I felt behind me the thrill that ran through my men. The first rank could not manage to keep the correct distance, the yard and a half, which ought to separate it from its leader. Even the corporal in the centre allowed his horse to graze the haunches of mine, "Tourne-Toujours," my gallant charger, the fiery thoroughbred which had so often maddened me at the riding schools of the regiment and at manoeuvres, by his savageness and the shaking he gave me. "Tourne-Toujours" gave evident signs of excitement. By his pawing the ground every now and then he, an officer's horse, seemed to resent the close proximity of mere troop horses. And certainly, under ordinary circumstances, I should have fallen foul of the rider imprudent enough to ride close to his heels. But on that occasion I merely laughed in my sleeve, knowing that in a few minutes, when the charge had begun, "Tourne-Toujours" would soon have made them all keep their proper distance, and something more. I took a pleasure in looking at the faces of the men of the third squadron, whose troops were riding in column abreast of us. Their chins were raised, their eyes wide open, intent, under the shade of their cap-peaks, upon the slightest irregularities of the ground ahead. Their hands grasped their sword-hilts tightly. Major B., leaning well forward, and riding between the two squadrons, was practising some furious cutting-strokes. What a grand fight it was going to be! How we should rejoice to see the curved sabres of our comrades rising against the clear sky to slash down upon the leather _schapskas_ of our foe! We waited for the word that was to let loose the pent-up energy of all those tense muscles. A trooper came back from the advance guard at full speed, and brought up his horse with the spur beside the Colonel. He reported in short sentences, which we could not hear. The Colonel turned towards our Captain, who was behind him, leaning forward over his horse, all attention, with his sword lowered, receiving the orders given in an undertone. We only heard the last sentence: "I shall support you with the rest of the regiment." "Thank Heaven!" thought I; "it is we; it is our dear squadron that is to have the honour of attacking first." Every man pulled himself together. Every man felt conscious of all the glory in store for us. Every man prepared to perform exploits which, we felt sure, would astonish the rest of the regiment, of the army, and of France. Forward! Forward! Forward!