1 8 HORSE, FOOT, AND DRAGOONS. 



mitted a glimpse across a street to an orchard beyond. In 

 the lower stories were the tap -room, kitchen, stables, etc. ; the 

 sleeping -rooms were above, opening on wooden galleries wet 

 with the dripping of the rain from the overhanging eaves of 

 the tiled and moss-grown roofs. 



Under a shed in one corner of the yard some cavalry soldiers 

 — chasseurs-a-cheval — who had been quartered here overnight, 

 had already lighted a fire, and the bugler lounging near them, 

 his great -coat hanging from his shoulders in heavy folds, his 

 bugle over his arm, and his shako pulled down over his eyes, 

 listlessly chewed a bit of straw, as, hands buried in the pockets 

 of his wide, leather-bordered trousers, he watched his comrades 

 in their preparations for breakfast. One or two sleepy soldiers, 

 yawning and stretching their limbs, the litter and straw still 

 clinging to their hair and clothing, appeared at the doors of the 

 stables, or shambled off about some early duty, dragging their 

 hobnailed boots over the stones, oblivious of an occasional pud- 

 dle, while the stable guard stood under the archway, in relief 

 against the wet road and gray trees of the orchard, where the 

 smoke of some other early fires mingled with the mist of the 

 falling rain. 



Gradually the light increased, silvering the roof-tops and 

 casting long reflections of the old buildings in the now bright 

 surface of the pavement. 



A smart sergeant clattered through the archway, and his 

 authoritative voice was immediately heard, putting something 

 like life into the sleepy soldiers, and evidently reminding the 

 bugler that he had something else to do than to toast his toes 

 at the fire ; for, drawing his hands from his pockets and drop- 

 ping his bit of straw, he assumed a wide-awake look, strode 

 across the court, and disappeared through a door-way. 



The others also showed some alacrity, and began leading out 



