It was the morning of the 24th of July, and in unclouded splendour the sun shone from the far horizon upon the tented camp of Luxembourg, on the standards waving and arms glittering within the rudely and hastily constructed entrenchments of the great and veteran engineer the Chevalier Antoine de Ville. Like bright snowy clouds the morning vapour curled upwards from the sedges of the Senne, and the dewy foliage of the woods, and rolling lazily along the plain, shrouded everything in a thick and gause-like veil of white obscurity, which the rays of the sun edged with the hue of gold. Under cover of this, although the French knew it not, the entire force of the allied nations, led by William of England, were coming rapidly on in two dense columns, intent on avenging the disgraces they had endured at Namur. Luxembourg lay within his bannered pavilion on a bed of sickness, and neither he nor his soldiers were aware of the foe's approach until the Prince of Wirtemburg, at the head of ten battalions of English, Dutch, and Danes, drove back his outposts on the right, making a furious attack on the camp, which instantly became a scene of greater confusion than King Agramont's. The patter of the musquetry, the roll of the advancing drums, and the bullets whistling through his tent, roused the brave Mareschal, who, leaping from his camp-bed, forgot his illness in the ardour and tumult of the moment. Hastily his pages attired and armed him, and throwing his magnificent surcoat above his gilded corslet, he seized his sword and baton, and rushed forth to repair what the artifices of William, the treachery of Millevoix, and the bravery of Wirtemburg had already achieved. To muster, to rally his immense force and repel the Prince of Wirtemburg, were but the work of a few seconds, and the great leader, who five minutes before had lain inert on a couch of illness, was now spurring his caparisoned horse from column to column, with his plumes waving, his accoutrements glittering, and his baton brandished aloft; his features filled with animation, his soul with energy. The Dukes of Bourbon and Vendome, the Princes of Turenne and Conté, the Duc de Chartres, a youth of fifteen, whose almost girlish beauty made him the sport and the idol of the army, the Marquis de Bellefonde, and several thousand chevaliers of noble birth and matchless spirit, by their presence, their ardour, and example, restored perfect order, and in admirable battle array they stood prepared to encounter the host of the Protestant confederation. As the sun rose higher the mist which shrouded the whole plain around the village of Steinkirke was gradually exhaled upwards, and as it rolled away the entire army of William III., a hundred thousand strong, were seen in order of battle, advancing as rapidly as the numerous thorn hedges, ditches, and dykes, which intersected the yellow cornfields, would permit.