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The Chasseur answered nothing; his sympathies were heartfelt with the Arabs, his allegiance and his esprit de corps were with the service in which he was enrolled. He could not defend French usurpation; but neither could he condemn the Flag that had now become his Flag, and in which he had grown to feel much of national honor, to take much of national pride.
The khwaja asked him to sit down, and presented him coffee; the chasseur asked the khwaja's name and designation. In the morning, when the chasseur attended the king's audience, he related to those present the circumstances of the khwaja; by degrees it came to my knowledge; I called the chasseur before me, and asked about the merchant. He related whatever he had seen.
They, together with an aged serving-woman, occupied the small warm rooms of one of the wings; besides them and the cook, who had a large apartment on the ground floor adjoining the kitchen, the only other person was a worn-out chasseur, who tottered about through the lofty rooms and halls of the main building, and discharged the duties of castellan.
The French officers shouted their commands, and the contrabandista captain gave forth his, but in both cases it was in vain, for almost before he could realise the fact a panic had seized upon chasseur and torch-bearer alike, and soon all were in flight a strangely weird medley of men whose way was lit up by the lights that were borne and blazed fiercely on their side, while their pace was hastened by the firing in their rear.
However, their nerves were evidently strung to the same tune, for at a sound behind the tapestry, which was more like the scuttering of rats and mice than anything else, both Madame de Mioumiou and the chasseur started with the most eager look of anxiety on their countenances, and by their restless movements madame's panting, and the fiery dilation of his eyes one might see that commonplace sounds affected them both in a manner very different to the rest of the company.
I was trying to rehabilitate myself when the chasseur brought me a telegram. I asked permission to open it, and stepped aside. The words of the telegram were like a ringing box on the ears. "Tell me immediately why Lola has joined you in Algiers. Not "Dale," mark you, as he has signed himself ever since I knew him in Eton collars, but "Kynnersley." Why has Lola joined you?
Of course, she won't come into the anteroom to get a billet doux, but if the mountain won't come to Mohammed, Mohammed must go to the mountain, which means, that if Miss Carmen won't come to me in the anteroom, I must go to her!" At this moment a Chasseur d'Afrique entered the wine-shop.
The Count Gaston Raoulx de Raousset-Boulbon was a young French nobleman and Soldier of Fortune, a chasseur d'Afrique, a duellist, journalist, dreamer, who came to California to dig gold. Baron Harden-Hickey, who was born in San Francisco a few years after Boulbon at the age of thirty was shot in Mexico, also was inspired to dreams of conquest by this same gentleman adventurer.
But she was amazed to see the English guest change color with a haughty anger that he strove to subdue as he half rose and answered her with an accent in his voice that reminded her she knew not why of Bel-a-faire-peur and of Marquise. "Mme. la Princess Corona d'Amague is my sister; why do you venture to couple the name of this Chasseur with hers?"
The French infantry and the same is, I believe, true of the German is now to all intents and purposes divided into two classes: holding troops and attacking, or "shock" troops, as the French call them. The latter consist of such picked elements as the Chasseur battalions, the Zouaves, the Colonials, the First, Twentieth, and Twenty-first Army Corps, and, of course, the Foreign Legion.
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