As I lay sick and faint I lifted my eyes; and what was my amazement to see, not the little companions of the school about me, but the gorgeous uniform of staff officers, and two elegantly-dressed ladies, one of whom held a cup of water in her hand and sprinkled it over my brow. I looked down upon my torn dress, and the sleeve of my coat, where the marks of my rank were already half effaced, and I felt the tears start into my eyes as the remembrance of my late failure crossed my mind. At the instant the crowd opened, and a pale but handsome face, where command was tempered by a look of almost womanly softness, smiled upon me. [Illlustration: C'était bien fait, mon enfant 223] “C'était bien fait, mon enfant,” said he, “trés bien fait; and if you have lost a coat by the struggle, why I must even see if I can't give you another to replace it. Monsieur Legrange, what is the character of this boy in the school? Is he diligent, zealous, and well-conducted!” “All of the three. General,” said the chef, bowing obsequiously. “Let him have his brevet,--to date from to-day. Who are his friends?” A whispered answer replied to this inquiry. “Indeed!” said the first speaker; “reason the more we should take care of him. Monsieur,” continued he, turning towards me, “to-morrow you shall have your epaulettes. Never forget how you gained them; and remember ever that every grade in the service is within the reach of a brave man who does his duty.” So saying, he passed on, while, overcome by emotion, I could not speak or move. “There, he is much better now,” said a soft voice near me; “you see his color is coming back.” I looked up, and there were two ladies standing beside me. The elder was tall and elegantly formed; her figure, which in itself most graceful, looked to its full advantage by the splendor of her dress; there was an air of stateliness in her manner, which had seemed hauteur were it not for a look of most benevolent softness that played about her mouth whenever she spoke. The younger, who might in years have seemed her daughter, was in every respect unlike her: she was slight and delicately formed; her complexion and her black eyes, shaded by a long dark fringe, bespoke the Provençal; her features were beautifully regular, and when at rest completely Greek in their character, but each moment some chance word, some passing thought, implanted a new expression, and the ever-varying look of her flashing eyes and full round lips played between a smile and that arch spirit that essentially belongs to the fair daughters of the South. It was not until my fixed gaze had brought a deep blush to her cheek, that I felt how ardently I had been looking at her.