 young Van Cutsum, Pauline's admirer,
was too good a soldier to disobey his colonel's orders to run away. Whilst in
garrison at Brussels young Regulus (he had been born in the revolutionary times)
found his great comfort, and passed almost all his leisure moments, in Pauline's
kitchen; and it was with pockets and holsters crammed full of good things from
her larder, that he had taken leave of his weeping sweetheart, to proceed upon
the campaign, a few days before.
    As far as his regiment was concerned, this campaign was over now. They had
formed a part of the division under the command of his sovereign-apparent, the
Prince of Orange; and as respected length of swords and mustachios, and the
richness of uniform and equipments, Regulus and his comrades looked to be as
gallant a body of men as ever trumpet sounded for.
    When Ney dashed upon the advance of the allied troops, carrying one position
after the other, until the arrival of the great body of the British army from
Brussels changed the aspect of the combat of Quatre Bras, the squadrons among
which Regulus rode showed the greatest activity in retreating before the French,
and were dislodged from one post and another, which they occupied with perfect
alacrity on their part. Their movements were only checked by the advance of the
British in their rear. Thus forced to halt, the enemy's cavalry (whose
bloodthirsty obstinacy cannot be too severely reprehended) had at length an
opportunity of coming to close quarters with the brave Belgians before them; who
preferred to encounter the British rather than the French, and at once turning
tail rode through the English regiments that were behind them, and scattered in
all directions. The regiment in fact did not exist any more; it was nowhere; it
had no headquarters. Regulus found himself galloping many miles from the field
of action, entirely alone; and whither should he fly for refuge so naturally as
to that kitchen and those faithful arms in which Pauline had so often welcomed
him?
    At some ten o'clock the clinking of a sabre might have been heard up the
stair of the house where the Osbornes occupied a story in the Continental
fashion. A knock might have been heard the kitchen door; and poor Pauline, come
back from church, fainted almost with terror as she opened it and saw before her
her haggard hussar. He looked as pale as the midnight dragoon who came to
disturb Leonora. Pauline would have screamed, but that her cry would have called
her masters, and discovered her friend. She stifled her scream, then, and
leading
