Coqueline got shot for me, you remember; he was a pretty fellow, Coqueline, and they killed him so clumsily, that they disfigured him terribly--it was quite a pity.

I said then I would have no more handsome men fight about me.

You may, if you like, M.le Black Hawk." Which title she gave with a saucy laugh, hitting with a chocolate bonbon the black African-burnt visage of the omnipotent chief she had the audacity to attack.

High or low, they were all the same to Cigarette.
She would have "slanged" the Emperor himself with the self-same coolness, and the Army had given her a passport of immunity so wide that it would have fared ill with anyone who had ever attempted to bring the vivandiere to book for her uttermost mischief.
"By the way!" she went on, quick as thought, with her reckless, devil-may-care gayety.

"One thing! Your Corporal will demoralize the army of Africa, monsieur!" "He shall have an ounce of cold lead before he does.