The exertion, and possibly the excitement, had flushed her cheek, so that as she came forward her look was brilliantly handsome; but as the colour died away, and a livid pallor spread over her jaws, lank and drawn in by famine, her expression was dreadful. The large eyes, lustrous and wild-looking, gleaming with the fire of fever, while her thin nostrils quivered at each respiration. Poor girl, even then, with famine and fever eating within her, the traits of womanly vanity still survived, and as she carried her hand to her cap in salute, she made a faint attempt at a smile. ‘The 22nd may indeed be proud of their vivandière,* said De Barre gallantly. ‘What hast in the _tonnslet_, Lela?’ continued he, tapping the little silver-hooped barrel she carried at her back. ‘_Ah, que voulez-vous?_ cried she laughing, with a low, husky sound, the laugh of famine. ‘I must have a glass of it to your health, _ma belle_ Lela, if it cost me a crown-piece’; and he drew forth the coin as he spoke. ‘For such a toast, the liquor is quite good enough,’ said Lela, drawing back at the offer of money; while slinging the little cask in front, she unhooked a small silver cup, and filled it with water. ‘No brandy, Lela?’ ‘None, colonel,’ said she, shaking her head; ‘and if I had, those poor fellows yonder would not like it so well.’ ‘I understand,’ said he significantly; ‘theirs is the thirst of fever.’ A short, dry cough, and a barely perceptible nod of the head, was all her reply; but their eyes met, and any so sad an expression as they interchanged I never beheld! it was a confession in full of all each had seen of sorrow, of suffering, and of death--the terrible events three months of famine had revealed, and all the agonies of pestilence and madness. ‘That is delicious water, Tiernay,’ said the colonel, as he passed me the cup, and thus trying to get away from the sad theme of his thoughts. ‘I fetch it from a well outside the walls every morning,’ said Lela; ‘ay, and within gunshot of the Austrian sentries, too.’ ‘There’s coolness for you, Tiernay,’ said the colonel; ‘think what the 22nd are made of when their vivandière dares to do this!’ ‘They’ll not astonish him,’ said Lela, looking steadily at me ‘And why not, _ma belle?_’ cried De Barre. ‘He was a Tapageur, one of the “Naughty Ninth,” as they called them.’ ‘How do you know that, Lela? Have we ever met before?’ cried I eagerly. ‘I’ve seen you, sir,’ said she slyly. ‘They used to call you the corporal that won the battle of Kehl. I know my father always said so.’