me turn round on my pillow and open my eyes, and there he stood--my
husband himself. His regiment had surpassed itself; he had received
the thanks of his colonel; he had but snatched a few hours' sleep,
and had ridden off to assure his Gildippe of his safety by her own
eyes, and to rejoice over our splendid victory.

And yet he could not but shudder as he spoke. When they had asked a
Spanish prisoner how many there had been in the army, 'Count the
dead,' he proudly answered. Nor could my husband abstain from tears
as he told me how the old Spanish guards were all lying as they
stood, slain all together, with their colonel, the Count of Fontanes,
at their head, sitting in the armchair in which he had been carried
to the field, for he was more than eighty years old, and could not
stand or ride on account of the gout.

The Duke of Enghien had said that if he had not been victorious, the
next best thing would be to have died like that.

But his charges, his fire, his coolness, his skill, the vehemence
which had triumphed over the caution of the old marshal, and the
resolution which had retrieved the day when his colleague was
wounded; of all this M. de Bellaise spoke with passionate ardour and
enthusiasm, and I--oh! I think that was the happiest and most
glorious day of all my life!

When we went together to mass, how everybody looked at him! and when
we returned there was quite a little crowd--M. le Gouverneur and his
officials eager to make their compliments to M. de Bellaise, and to
ask questions about the Duke and about the battle, and whether he
thought the Duke would march this way, in which case a triumphal