And very apropos had she retreated, for barely had she gone when the military manœuvres were brought to a close by an announcement of the steward, as he stood judiciously outside the door, prepared to run in case of military assault--an announcement to the effect that one of the brave eleventh was at the door. Whereat the steward flew on one side to make room for a charge on the part of both sergeant and lady, who both rushed to the door to welcome the visitor. And who was that visitor from the brave eleventh? Tony! and a score more, who came storming the place as though they had a right to do so. And when they reached the grand drawing-room, where the duke was to be received, they set up such a shout as almost paralyzed the marquise, who, as she did not come to ascertain the cause of the uproar was, perhaps, temporarily deprived of the power of action or remonstrance. “Hurrah! Marie--Marie!” And there was to be seen the spectacle of “a young lady in fashionable attire,” shaking the hands of a score of common soldiers, and giving to special favorites a friendly dig in the ribs with her fair little fingers. Common soldiers, all but one--Tony! Hopeless despair is sometimes success. Tony, fighting madly for welcome death, lived throughout all to be Captain Tony, and to wear a cross of valor. She immediately, after a few confidential words with the captain, proposed comfort of an ardent kind to the soldiers. “Aye! Aye,” said they “where’s your keg, Marie?” And then and there the vivandiere’s keg appeared in the person of the butler, who came to the door trembling. And the next moment he was borne off in trembling triumph to the assault of his own cellars. Marie was not the girl to give way to much sentiment, so the next moment or so she was talking briskly with her old comrades. “So, here we three are again, eh!” “Yes, Marie, as in the old days.” “How long ago they seem, Sulpice. And so you are a captain, Tony.” “Yes, and a very brave captain too.” This was not the remark of the captain himself, but of his sergeant. “Now Sulpice, sit down there. Good: now the captain will sit on one side of you and I will sit on the other. There. And now I must begin. Sergeant Sulpice, you must help us!” “Help whom, Vivandiere?” “Marie, and Marie’s captain.” “How?” “Speak to the marquise.” “I’d rather storm a fort.” “Sergeant Sulpice, you must help us. I say it--you must speak of our troth.” “Yes--and we did pledge our troth, Marie--did we not?” “Surely; but I am speaking to the sergeant. You see, sergeant, the poor captain is deeply in love with me; and--yes--I think I am deeply in love with the captain. Well, sergeant, you must help us?” “Yes, sergeant--I, your captain, tell you--you must help us.” “Confound you both.” And the sergeant moved his chair--but Marie moved hers, as also did the captain his.