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"Yes;" I saw la belle Aurelia yesterday in busy Paul Street, close to the Hôtel-Dieu; I knew her at once by the long glossy ringlet, the suivez-moi—come-follow-me-lads—that hung down her back."

"How your tongue runs on, Hector!"

"Pardon me; I forgot that you were hit in that quarter."

"Positively, Hector, I'll punch your head."

"A fellow always makes a fool of himself about some girl or woman at some time, and it is your case now, though I must admit that Aurelia Darnel is one of the most attractive girls I have seen, and does credit to your taste, Roland. Now that you are Laird of Ardgowrie you'll make great running in that quarter."

"Aurelia is too rich to care a straw even about Ardgowrie."

"I don't know that, Ruthven."

But the latter was in no mood for jesting, especially on such a subject, and abruptly spoke of something else; for now, with all his intense longing to see Aurelia once more, he actually dreaded the thought of meeting her.

"Better that I should avoid her, but in doing so, what will she think of me?" he pondered, while manipulating a cigar (we had not yet fought in the Crimea, thus cigarettes were as yet unknown among us). "To see her again will be but torture. What course ought I to follow—must I pursue, when, penniless as I know myself to be now, her love is denied me! I must quit even the dear old regiment in time, and begin a life of exile in India."