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 were all veterans; that is to say, had fought through one or more campaigns, so that many a young, delicate face in the ranks was seamed and scarred by the shot and shell of the enemy. The majority, however, were grim, and grey, and bronzed; men who could eat ammunition-bread and suttlers' beef without fear of colic; who could sleep round a bivouac fire, and rise refreshed and ready to be killed; who had looked death in the face and laughed at him in a score of fields.

A large proportion were of noble birth, and all were at home in the drawing-room, the refinements and delicate airs of which it was their affectation to carry with them under fire. They could be rough and outspoken enough, jesting with each other over the wine-cup, or arguing as now while waiting for parade; but put them before an enemy, the nearer the better, and they became lambs—ladies—perfect dancing-masters in the postures and graces they assumed. If the baggage was not too far in the rear, they dressed and scented themselves for a battle as for a ball. They flourished lace handkerchiefs, wore white gloves, and took snuff from gold boxes in the act of advancing to charge a column or to storm a battery. Marlborough's grenadiers had many a tussle with them, and loved them dearly. "Close in, Jack," these honest fellows would say to each other, when they saw the laced hats, with their jaunty grey cockades, advancing through the smoke. "There'll be wigs on the green now—here's the Dandies a-coming!"

And in good truth, ere the Dandies and they parted, many a comely head was down to rise no more.

There were several companies of these picked troops, distinguished by the different colours of their uniforms. It was their pride to vie with each other in daring, as in extravagance and dissipation. If a post were unusually formidable, a battery in a peculiarly strong position, one or other of these companies, black, red, or grey, would entreat permission to storm it. The Grey Musketeers had of late esteemed themselves very fortunate in opportunities for leaving half their number dead on the field.

They were commanded by the young officer whose acquaintance Madame de Montmirail made during the stag-hunt at Fontainebleau. Captain George, as he was called, had