THE STANDARD-BEARER 78

fire, the cantinitre sewed at once the
gold braid of sub-lieutenant.

It was the only proud moment ‘in
that life of humility. At once the
figure of the old trooper straightened
itself. The poor fellow, accustomed
to walk with bowed back and eyes on
the ground, took on henceforward a
proud bearing, with glance constantly
lifted to see that rag of stuff floating
overhead, and to keep it so, erect, high
up there, above death, treason, and
defeat.

Never was man so happy as Hornus
on fighting days, when he held his
standard pole with both hands, firmly
fixed in its leathern sheath, He
neither spoke nor moved. Solemn as
a priest, one would have thought he
held something sacred. All his life,
all his strength, was in his fingers,
clutched about this glorious golden
rag against which the balls dashed
themselves, and in his defiant glance
that looked the Prussians well in the