The beds in General Benthornham's room stood parallel with each other, a narrow passage extending between. And, as I have before stated that the weather was excessively warm, when the aid de camp, a profusely feathered foreign gentleman, entered for the orders of his chief, he found both heroes naked to the buff, with the broad disc of their most dependable parts forming confronting batteries, and their bodies making the letter C, very like snails after a shower of rain. On the opposite sides were little tables, upon which stood, within reach, bottles of congress water, decanters in which the liquor had well nigh got to the bottom, and tumblers containing the dregs of two very suggestive drinks called cocktails, all provided at an early hour by a shrewd and very considerate waiter. The aid was not a little abashed when he discovered the condition his chief was in, and declared, in very good French, not a word of which Benthornham could have understood had he been awake, that although he had been aid to Garibaldi when he held possession of Rome, and had served in numerous battles where he had to run for his life, he never had seen general officers cut such figures, which he would not have the brigade see for the world. Indeed, he thought within himself that the sight was enough to have shocked either the seventh or seventy-first regiments, both of which corps were composed of young men of modesty and great respectability. The aid touched his hat out of sheer respect to his sleeping superior, and indeed saluted him according to the regulations of the service. But as neither the general nor the major paid the slightest heed to these courtesies and the aid was a man much given to paying all deference to his superiors, he, without disturbing the general in the least, drew up the sheet and laid it gently over him, as a means of protecting his dignity from further damage. He also performed a similar service for the major, who was snoring at a pace that can be better imagined than described.