“Ah, ah! capital! Just listen: ’The beautiful Tristano quite burned away with love for the cruel Isotta, who SCORNED him (here she looked scornfully at Nemorino). At last, he found a sage, who gave him a love-philtre, and after that, the lovely Isotta was continually following the handsome Tristano.’ Nonsense! that only proves that the lovely Isotta was as stupid as somebody else I know. Hark! there are the drums; oh, delight, here comes _the sergeant_;” and then she looked wickedly at the disconsolate Nemorino. Who was certainly very different to “_the sergeant_.” Nemorino was tall, comely-looking, flaxen-haired, and ingenuous; Sergeant Belcore was equally tall, but he was more than comely-looking. Such a figure had Sergeant Belcore! And Sergeant Belcore’s moustache, a long, sweeping moustache, which stood out straight on each side of his face, in the mathematical manner, and was as bright as his splendid boots. His handsome black hair, too, was clipped short to the pole of his neck; and altogether, Sergeant Belcore was very spruce indeed; and Sergeant Belcore knew it. He thought he was in love with Adina, but he certainly was not; whereof, in proof of which, witness the nosegay. No lover--really a lover--comes up as cool as a cucumber to offer his bouquet? No, he suggests the flowers, so to speak, with many doubts; and if it be accepted, he don’t twirl his moustaches (if he has any), as though he had done a very admirable thing. All of which conduct was Sergeant Belcore’s, when he stepped cavalierly up to the maiden. As for Nemorino, poor fellow, he looked more lone, dismal, and ridiculous than before. “O, country nymph, I present this nosegay to you, as Paris did the apple, because you are the loveliest.” “Ah, ah, ah! very good.” Nemorino sighs. “And I see clearly I’ve carried your heart by storm. Well, well, no girl can withstand a red coat.” “Ah, ah, ah! very good, sergeant.” “Ah, me!” sighed the love-born swain. “Well, pretty one, if your love equals mine, let’s ground arms--capitulate; on what day will you marry me?” “Ah, ah, ah! very good, Sergeant Belcore.” “Come--come--come--here’s the conqueror.” “Sergeant, sergeant, you storm too soon. Who should cry victory before the battle has begun? And besides, _I_ am Adina.” “I wish,” thought the poor stricken lover, “_I_ could talk as bravely as the sergeant.” “Well well, as sure as I’ve a military moustache, I’ll not desert the post.” “Spoken like a brave sergeant. But, in the meantime, may I offer you something to eat?” “I’m one of the family already,” thought the sergeant; so he said, “If _you_ sit at the same table.” “Ah, ah, ah! _very_ good, Sergeant Belcore. Go in, go in.” _She_ saw Nemorino was coming up to speak to her. “One little word, Adina.” “Oh, _two_ little words for Nemorino. The usual sighs, though he had much better go and see his uncle, who is ill--they say _very_ ill.” “He is not so sick as I am, Adina.”