of which our soldiers could be distinguished by their brilliant armor. Presently our troops began to operate their retreat towards the defile, yielding the ground before them foot by foot to the swarm of Frankish assailants, who received every moment fresh accessions from the cavalry of their vanguard, while their main body began to move at a quickened step. "By heaven!" cried Victorin, his fiery eyes fixed upon the field, "our brave Firmian who commands those three cohorts seems to have forgotten in his ardor for the fray that he was steadily to fall back into the defile so as to draw the enemy in after him. Firmian is no longer retreating; he has stopped and does not budge back an inch--he will cause his troops to be uselessly sacrificed--" And addressing one of the officers: "Ride quick to Ruper, and order him to proceed with his three veteran cohorts to the support of Firmian's retreat. Ruper is to order the retreat to be made rapidly. The bulk of the Frankish army is now only a hundred bow-shots from the entrance of the defile." The officer departed at a gallop. Obedient to the orders that he carried, the three veteran cohorts speedily emerged from the defile at the double quick; they hastened to join and sustain Firmian's troops; a little later the feigned retreat was effected in good order. Seeing the Gauls yield, the Franks set up a shout of savage joy, and charged impetuously upon our cohorts. The Frankish vanguard was soon close to the mouth of the defile. Suddenly Victorin grew pale. Anxiety was depicted on his face as he cried: "By my father's sword! Can I have been mistaken as to the barbarians' plans? Do you perceive their movement?" "Yes," I said, "instead of following their vanguard into the defile, the Frankish army has halted; it is forming into numerous separate columns of attack, and these are marching towards the plateau! Malediction! They are resorting to the skilful manoeuvre that you feared. Oh, we have taught the barbarians the art of war!" Victorin did not reply. He seemed to be counting the enemy's columns of attack. Thereupon he galloped back to our main army and cried: "My boys! It is not now in the defile that we are to await these barbarians--we shall have to fight them in the open field. Fall upon them from the height of the plateau that they are seeking to climb--drive their hordes into the Rhine! They are three to our one--so much the better! This evening, when we shall be back in camp, our mother, Victoria, will say to us: 'Children, you were brave!'" At these words, Rolla, the druid bard, improvised the following war song, which he struck up with a powerful, resonant voice: "This morning we say:-- 'How many are there of these barbarous hordes, Who thievishly aspire to rob us of land. Of homes, of wives, and of sunshine? Yes, how many are there of these Franks?'