One of a thousand of such episodes, as were daily occurring along the frontiers of Alsace and Lorraine, would no doubt have desolated for ever the household of M. de Caillé but for the timely arrival of Pierrepont and his twenty Thuringians. Aware of this, when the Uhlan trumpet sounded, Célandine de Caillé, like most young girls, a light sleeper, heard it before the war-worn Charlie, and pale and startled, came forth in the prettiest of morning robes to bid him farewell, and to stuff his havresack, and the havresacks of his men (though they were Prussians), with all that the Bavarians had not consumed last night. Charlie thought how fresh and radiant the young girl looked in her white morning dress, with blue breastknots, and a ribbon of the same colour in her hair, a soft light shining in her blue eyes, and a little colour in her peach-like cheek, that reminded him of Ernestine; but, ah! who was like Ernestine? A soldier fresh from one battle and going forth to fight another is an object of interest to all; but a handsome, frank, and free-hearted young fellow, like Charlie Pierrepont, was doubly so to an impassionable girl like Mademoiselle de Caillé; thus her blue eyes filled with tears as he kissed her tremulous little hand, which, like her taper arm, came so delicately forth from the wide-laced sleeves of her dress. 'Why are there tears in your eyes, Mademoiselle?' asked Charlie, with a kind smile. 'Because, Monsieur, I pity you.' 'Pity me!' 'Indeed I do, Monsieur. Most earnestly.' 'And why?' 'Because you are too young, and too good and kind, to be killed. Oh!' continued the girl, looking up in his face, 'I implore you to go home--home to your own England--home to your mother, if you have one, and leave these odious Prussians to fight their own battles.' 'It is too late, my pretty friend.' 'How so?' 'The die is cast that makes me--Prussian.' 'Will another horrible battle be fought to-day?' asked Monsieur de Caillé, who now made his appearance. 'I am sure of it, Monsieur,' replied Charlie. '_Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!_' exclaimed Célandine, clasping her hands, and looking upwards; 'and you will be in it?' 'Undoubtedly, Mademoiselle.' She drew very close to Charlie, and said, in a low voice, 'Pardon me, _mon ami_--but--but when were you last at mass or confession?' 'We don't attend to either much in the 95th,' was Charlie's evasive reply; 'besides, our Herr Pastor is a Lutheran.' The sweet French girl eyed him wistfully. 'You are too good and humane thus to die like a heathen!' said she, 'and many more will die to-day. Promise me, Monsieur, that you will wear this.' And from her white neck she took a little holy cross and medal, suspended by a blue ribbon, which she passed over Charlie's head. 'For your sake, then,' said Charlie gallantly. 'For your own, rather. Whether you believe in such things or not, it will do you no harm to wear it.'