"What are these?--moidores, by the gods of the Greeks! But thanks, my friend, I shall pay you at San Pedro, where I shall bring our paymaster to book. I could lavish a colonel's pay, if I had it, which is never likely to be the case, for we're a devilish slow regiment, Quentin." "But some of our Highland corps are slower still," remarked an officer. "I have known a fellow to be four years an ensign in one of them, and every month at least once under fire all the time," said Askerne. "They never sell out or purchase in, and then there is no killing them by bullets, starvation, or fatigue." "For the baggage guard to-morrow, Mr. Monkton," said old Sergeant-major Calder, approaching the group, who were lounging on the grass; "for the colours, Mr. Hardinge and Mr. Boyle." He saluted and retired, while Monkton apostrophized the baggage guard in pretty round terms. "I should like to have halted one night at Badajoz," said Colville; "there is a theatre there, and other means of spending money which smack of civilization. Conyers----" "Who's he?" "Conyers of the 10th Hussars, one of Hope's extra aides-de-camp, says there are some beautiful girls to be seen on the promenade of poplars, the Prado beside the river, in the evening, where they all go veiled, with fireflies strung in their hair, producing a very singular effect." "I would rather be whispering soft nothings into their pretty ears and over their white shoulders than be bivouacking here," said Monkton. "I believe you, my friend; but perhaps the knife of some devil of a lover or _cortejo_ might give your whisperings a point you never expected," replied Askerne. "Try a sip from my canteen," said Monkton; "it contains some of the stuff I got the other night at the camp of the 28th, and better you'll find it than the aguardiente of the Spanish Hottentots. Take a pull, Quentin, as a nightcap, and then turn in under that laurel bush and sleep if you can, under your own bays, till the bugle sounds the 'rouse.'" Remembering the injunctions of the worthy Padre Florez, Quentin declined. "Well, well, boy, as you please," said Monkton, slinging his canteen behind him; "but what the devil's that? Cavalry!" "It is the staff--the general," exclaimed Askerne, as they all started to their feet, and proceeded to buckle on their swords, as Sir John Hope, with several mounted staff officers and commanders of corps, among whom was Colonel Cosmo Crawford, approached slowly, checking their horses, and talking with considerable animation, while their flowing scarlet and white plumes, their cocked-hats, aiguilettes, and orders, the holsters, and housings of their horses, were all visible in the glare of the watchfire, on which the servants and pioneers were heaping fresh branches for the night, and the occasional flashes of which brought out in strong light or threw into deep shadow the martial group, imparting a Rembrandtish tone to the horses and their riders.