His sword clanked at his heels.

He swung along with a free swagger, head up, shoulders back, eyes fixed straight before him.

A gallant specimen was he, for though of inconsiderable height, he was well made and obviously of athletic build.

His thoughts were evidently far away, his handsome, boyish face so preoccupied that it had the look of a face in a picture, patrician, aloof, immobile.
But a sudden glimpse of the girl at the gate--the child with the shining hair--brought him back in a fraction of time, transformed him utterly.
Recognition, vivid surprise, undoubted pleasure, flashed over his face.
With an eager smile, he paused, clicked his heels together, saluted.
She extended an eager hand--her left; Cinders monopolized her right.
"Oh," she exclaimed, "you! I didn't know you were a soldier!" He took the hand over the gate, stooped and kissed it.

"But I am delighted, mademoiselle!" he said.
Cinders was also delighted, and struggled with yelps of welcome to reach him.