Many units of her collective father were knocked over before Marie grew to be a very pretty girl; but, spite of continual arrivals, seeing their daughter for the first time, there were many who remembered Marie being found, and with her a letter, and nobody better than Sergeant Sulpice--who always kept the letter, and who, in fact, had picked it and Marie up when he was a full private, and quite a new recruit. Well, they taught Marie to tap her drum at a very early early age, and she tapped it till she was nearly seventeen; and on her birthday, and all other social festivals, she tapped it very loud and fast. The French were scudding all over Switzerland, and nobody was more frightened, then and there, than the Marquise de Berkenfelt. As a rule, the Swiss opposed the French bravely, but the marquise was a disgrace to her title. She stood among the villagers of her particular village trembling far move than the young girls. As for the marquise--fifty, if a day! She could not return to the castle, and yet she could not stay where she was,--and then, the enemy might be down on them in a moment. “Plan--plan--rataplan,” away in the distance. The marquise’s steward immediately assured her that the men were retreating, and the marquise was immensely glad to hear it. She would not, however, go back to that castle of hers, but chose to sit on a secluded rock, while the steward went to reconnoitre. Barely was she left to herself than Sergeant Sulpice was walking rapidly past her. “By the lock of a musket, if they could fight as they can run, we should be sent back to France in a week. Aye, run--run--as though peace was not proclaimed. Hallo! here comes Marie--Marie of the 11th.” “Oh’ é--é--é--Salute, Sulpice.” “Here comes the heart of the regiment.” “Well--I think I begin to do you credit.” “Angel.” “Pooh--nonsense. Soldier! Born in a camp--the roll of the drum my only lullaby--a drum my only toy--except you--you grizzly old father, you.” “The regiment is lucky to have a Marie.” “Marie is lucky to have a regiment, you mean. Why, each man was her carriage when she was a child--her rations were better than any one’s;--yes she ate and drank to the trun--trun--trun of the drum. And now--now I’m grown up--every man touches his shako to me.” “They revere you.” “Revere, nonsense--they love me. Don’t I too have all the pleasure of the camp!” “Yes, and who takes care of the camp?--who has a kind word and hand for a wounded man, while she gives the other hand to him who comes to help her?” “Yes--and who is it fills your glasses--and sings you songs?” “Yes--and who makes us happy?” “Why, _not_ the daughter of the regiment!” “Oh--of course not!” “Now--now--now--Sergeant--attention. Right about face. Ma-a-a-r-r-rch!”---- “Tum--tum--tum--Ra-ra-ra-ra.” And so--drilling her drum--she and the sergeant march off to the camp.