"Cinders, salute!" And into Cinders' ear she whispered, "They are only French, chappie, but you mustn't mind." And Cinders, quite unconcerned, obeyed his mistress's behest and lifted a rigid paw to his head.
A murmur of appreciation ran through the ranks.

The grins widened.

One boy, with bold admiration for the _petite Anglaise_ in his black eyes, raised his hand abruptly and saluted in return.

Every man who followed did likewise, and Chris was enchanted.

Mademoiselle Gautier would have been horrified had she seen her frank nods of acknowledgment, but mercifully Fate spared her this.
Behind the last line of marching men came a trim young officer.