As they defiled into the ‘Piazza,’ there seemed a kind of effort to assume the port and bearing of their craft; and although many stumbled, and some actually fell, from weakness, there was an evident attempt to put on a military appearance. The manner of the adjutant, as he passed down the line, revealed at once the exact position of affairs. No longer inspecting every little detail of equipment, criticising this, or remarking on that, his whole attention was given to the condition of the musket, whose lock he closely scrutinised, and then turned to the cartouch-box. The ragged uniforms, the uncouth shakos, the belts dirty and awry, never called forth a word of rebuke. Too glad, as it seemed, to recognise even the remnants of discipline, he came back from his inspection apparently well satisfied and content. ‘These fellows turn out well,’ said Colonel de Barre, as he looked along the line; and I started to see if the speech were an unfeeling jest. Far from it; he spoke in all seriousness. The terrible scenes he had for months been witnessing; the men dropping from hunger at their posts; the sentries fainting as they carried arms, and borne away to the hospital to die; the bursts of madness that would now and then break forth from men whose agony became unendurable, had so steeled him to horrors, that even this poor shadow of military display seemed orderly and imposing. ‘They are the 22nd, colonel,’ replied the adjutant, proudly, ‘a corps that always have maintained their character, whether on parade or under fire!’ ‘Ah! the 22nd, are they? They have come up from Ronco, then?’ ‘Yes, sir; they were all that General Soult could spare us.’ ‘Fine-looking fellows they are,’ said De Barre, scanning them through his glass. ‘The third company is a little, a very little to the rear--don’t you perceive it?--and the flank is a thought or so restless and unsteady.’ ‘A sergeant has just been carried to the rear ill, sir,’ said a young officer, in a low voice. ‘The heat, I have no douht; a _colpo di sole_, as they tell us everything is,’ said De Barre. ‘By the way, is not this the regiment that boasts the pretty vivandière? What’s this her name is?’ ‘Lela, sir.’ ‘Yes, to be sure, Lela. I’m sure I’ve heard her toasted often enough at cafés and restaurants.’ ‘There she is, sir, yonder, sitting on the steps of the fountain’; and the officer made a sign with his sword for the girl to come over. She made an effort to arise at the order, but tottered back, and would have fallen if a soldier had not caught her. Then suddenly collecting her strength, she arranged the folds of her short scarlet jupe, and smoothing down the braids of her fair hair, came forward, at that sliding, half-skipping pace that is the wont of her craft.