But, by all the powers! it shan't be said that a French officer cannot cope with a piece of poetry.

One battalion has fought--now for the rest!" Perseverance had its reward.

Presently two lines, one red, the other blue, appeared upon the paper, and the captain murmured: "Words, mere words, cannot avail, Telling true heart's tender tale." "What on earth ails my master ?" muttered Ben Zoof; "for the last hour he has been as fidgety as a bird returning after its winter migration." Servadac suddenly started from his seat, and as he paced the room with all the frenzy of poetic inspiration, read out: "Empty words cannot convey All a lover's heart would say." "Well, to be sure, he is at his everlasting verses again!" said Ben Zoof to himself, as he roused himself in his corner.

"Impossible to sleep in such a noise;" and he gave vent to a loud groan.
"How now, Ben Zoof ?" said the captain sharply.

"What ails you ?" "Nothing, sir, only the nightmare." "Curse the fellow, he has quite interrupted me!" ejaculated the captain.
"Ben Zoof!" he called aloud.
"Here, sir!" was the prompt reply; and in an instant the orderly was upon his feet, standing in a military attitude, one hand to his forehead, the other closely pressed to his trouser-seam.
"Stay where you are! don't move an inch!" shouted Servadac; "I have just thought of the end of my rondo." And in a voice of inspiration, accompanying his words with dramatic gestures, Servadac began to declaim: "Listen, lady, to my vows-- O, consent to be my spouse; Constant ever I will be, Constant...." No closing lines were uttered.