"'Praying!' reiterated Jacques with intense disgust; 'I shall soon change their cheer. Are there any guitars or mandolins here? The girl--what's her name? Virginia shall bear us company in a merry chorus, or shall ride the cheval de bois with a vengeance.' "'Let us have her by all means,' said one of the Imperial guardsmen; 'we must teach this young creature the first rudiments of love and coquetry.' "'Will some of you lend a hand to undo the clasp of this infernal sword-belt?' grumbled Jacques, who was very tipsy. 'Avaunt, Jean Graule, thou art drunk, man! Vivancourt, most redoubtable chevalier of the immortal legion of honour, lend me thine aid. Corboeuf! I am swollen like a huge tortoise with Ciudal Real. Now, messieurs, remember that I am the senior officer here, and that whoever follows me does so at his peril.' "And half-dancing, half staggering, he swaggered out of the room accompanied by Jean Graule. "We continued to enjoy ourselves with supreme nonchalance, for the Imperial Guard and the 23rd Grenadiers were the most reckless routiers in the army. Believe me, we were too much accustomed to storming to trouble ourselves much about the little Spanish girl; but I am forgetting that you are not a Frenchman; so, fearing to shock your cold British prejudices, I will, as the novelists say, draw a veil over what passed;" and M. de St. Florian smiled complacently as he emptied and refilled his glass. "Is it possible!" I exclaimed, with something of incredulity in my manner; "is it possible that brave soldiers, and gentlemen of France--France, once so famous for its spirit of honour and chivalry--could behave thus?" "Monsieur, my word is never doubted," replied the other good-humouredly; "how could you expect us to behave like saints or apostles, or perhaps like the cool stoics that compose a regiment of kilts? "Chataigneur was absent with Jean Graule about an hour, during which time we scarcely missed him, so closely did we pay court to the glittering decanters and bloated pig-skins, which we laid under contribution without mercy. The wax lights, were becoming double; the saloon was beginning to swim around us; and we were in the very midst of singing the carmagnole in full chorus, at the utmost pitch of our lungs, each having his drawn sabre in his right hand, and a mantling cup in his left, when the door was dashed open and Jacques Chataigneur entered, with Donna Elvira supported on one arm, and her daughter Donna Virginia on the other. "With a triumphant and scornful air, he led or rather half dragged them in, and forced them to sit down at table with us.