He was nothing to her: it was her army that crowned her.
Nevertheless, despite her gay contempt for rank, her heart beat fast
under its gold-laced packet as she reined up Etoile and saluted. In that
hot, clear sun all the eyes of that immense host were fastened on
her, and the hour of her longing desire was come at last. France had
recognized that she had done greatly. There was a group before her,
large and brilliant, but at them Cigarette never looked; what she saw
were the faces of her "children," of men who, in the majority, were
old enough to be her grandsires, who had been with her through so many
darksome hours, and whose black and rugged features lightened and grew
tender whenever they looked upon their Little One. For the moment she
felt giddy with sweet, fiery joy; they were here to behold her thanked
in the name of France.
The Marshal, in advance of all his staff, doffed his plumed hat and
bowed to his saddle-bow as he faced her. He knew her well by sight, this
pretty child of his Army of Africa, who had, before then, suppressed
mutiny like a veteran, and led the charge like a Murat--this kitten with
a lion's heart, this humming-bird with an eagle's swoop.
"Mademoiselle," he commenced, while his voice, well skilled to such
work, echoed to the farthest end of the long lines of troops, "I have
the honor to discharge to-day the happiest duty of my life. In conveying
to you the expression of the Emperor's approval of your noble conduct in
the present campaign, I express the sentiments of the whole Army.
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