After this I called upon Doctor Hall, with whom I had a few minutes’ conversation upon business. Louis was somewhere about, busily engaged, and, as usual, unwilling to give a direct reply, no matter what question you put to him. He came to see me. I inquired if he knew anything about the sortie of the previous night, upon which he answered that the black horse he rode the day before had thrown him in the mud, and made him in such a mess. I replied in his style: “The sun is very hot to-day.” Upon which he observed, “he never was there in his life.” I begged of him to tell me how he was to-morrow. “Don’t believe that,” said he; “it is quite false.” An interesting young man indeed was Louis. A very great curiosity then made its appearance, breaking the thread of our scientific conversation. What, reader, do you think it was? A carriage!--a thing unknown in the camp--or at least a bad imitation of one--drawn by two very obstinate mules, one pulling against the other, which seemed to amuse my intelligent friend Louis, who never liked to see anything going on smoothly. General Estcourt went out to meet it, and two ladies alighted. To this Louis thoroughly objected, saying--“Ladies, indeed! they are the two female Zouaves who performed in the _Anglaises pour Rire_, at the theatre in their camp. One,” said he, “is Jean Huguet--the other Panaudet, aide-de-camp to the drum-major of a regiment of cavalry. The first plays Lady Painbeche in that tragedy--the other, Lady Don’t-you-wish-you-may-get-it.” Very fertile indeed was the brain of Louis at composition of the higher school; and, like Marplot, never wishing to see anything in its right light, he succeeded admirably. The sight of a carriage was something wonderful, but two ladies at once, and fashionably dressed, was too much good-luck. I advanced towards them, and had the honour of being introduced by the general to Mrs. Estcourt and his sister. The general invited me to walk in, and I had the honour of taking a glass of wine with the fair--who might well be called fairies at the time--ladies being so scarce, in fact, all but invisible, in the Crimea. After a short, but very interesting, conversation with the ladies, I retired, leaving some copies of my receipts with Mrs. Estcourt, who kindly undertook to look at the proofs before printing. Thence I proceeded to the General Camp Hospital, and there met Doctor Mouatt, who told me he was waiting for the bricks for his oven from the Ordnance Office at head-quarters. I informed him that I had given in the plan for a kitchen, and endeavoured to convince him of the necessity of having it done at once. “I am well aware of that, and it shall be attended to.” All inquiries respecting my pony were fruitless. At last, upon asking at a canteen, a soldier told me he had heard of one being found in some regiment, but could not tell me which one, though he thought it was somewhere about Cathcart’s Hill.