The death-bed scene of poor D’Estouville, although it made on the witnesses of it a deep impression for the time, was easily passed over when the feelings are blunted and deadened by the continual excitement of campaigning. They had scarcely left the chapel or hospital, before the shade of sorrow which their faces had worn disappeared. Macdonald went away on some duty; Stuart’s thoughts reverted to his arrest, and the disagreeable predicament in which he was placed; while De Mesmai began to talk in his usual light and careless style. He placed his scarlet forage-cap very much on one side, tightened his sash, arranging the tassels gracefully, and stuck his glass in his eye to ogle and scrutinize the females who passed. "Poor Victor!" said he; "a merrier comrade or more gallant soldier than he was, there is not in the imperial service. Many a glorious evening we have had in Paris, flirting with the _jolies grisettes_ of the Rue des Trois Maries,—fighting with the gendarmerie, and amusing ourselves by frolicking with messieurs the good-natured bourgeois,—some dozen of whom we have ducked in the Seine. These days are all passed away, and poor Victor is gone to his long home. War leads to death or glory, and his fate to-day maybe ours to-morrow; so, then, what is the utility of being cast down? _Vive la joie!_ let us live and be merry while we can. Praised be our stars! here is a wine-house, where we can spend the evening in a jovial style, and scare away from our hearts the gloom cast upon them by the death of D’Estouville. _Diable! mon ami_; for what do you stare so at that old ruinous mansion?" "’Tis the house of the Villa Franca family. I received great kindness from them, when I came to Merida for the first time." "A picturesque ruin it makes, with its shattered capitals and empty windows. D’Estouville’s grenadiers did all that. I have heard that he carried off a very pretty creature from this place, at least so Chateaufleur of ours told me. He had her at Almarez; but, like a cunning dog, kept her closely out of my sight, lest I might have procured her transfer to the tower of Ragusa, when I was left in temporary command. But we had plenty of girls there, by the Pope! We captured a score of plump young _paisanas_; but their skins were devilish brown, and their hands were all chapped with milking goats and cows. Here is the wine-house,—but, _morbleu!_ I have not one infernal sous to clink upon another!" "I have, _mon camarade_," said Stuart, producing a purse containing forty duros, which he had borrowed from Major Campbell, to procure favour with whom he was obliged to endure two long stories about Egypt. "_Sacre!_ forty duros? A lucky dog and a most gorgeous display,—’pon honour—really. Enter then, and we will drink a long glassful to the continuance of the war."