“A brave soldier needs no excuse in our presence, Colonel Bezan,” replied the queen, warmly.  “When we have heard of your prowess in the field, and have seen the stands of colors you have taken from the enemy, far outnumbering your own force, we have thought you were some older follower of the bugle and the drum-some hardy and gray old soldier, whose life had been spent in his country’s service, and therefore when we find an soldier like yourself, so young, and yet so wise, we were surprised.”

“Your majesty has made too much of my poor deserts.  Already have I been twice noticed by honorable and high promotion in rank, and wear this emblem to-day by your majesty’s gracious favor.”  As he spoke, he touched his colonel’s star.

“For your bravery and important services, Captain Bezan, wear this next that star for the present,” said the queen, presenting the young soldier with the medal and order of St. Sebastian, a dignity that few attained to of less distinction than her privy councillors and the immediate officers of the government.

Surprised by this unexpected and marked honor, the young soldier could only kneel and thank her majesty in feeble words, which he did, and pressing the token to his lips, he placed it about his neck by the golden chain that had supported it but a moment before upon the lovely person of his queen.  The presence was broken up, and Lorenzo Bezan returned to his barracks, reflecting upon his singular good fortune.

His modest demeanor, his brilliant military services, his handsome face and figure, and in short his many noble points of manliness; and perhaps even the slight tinge of melancholy that seemed ever struggling with all the emotions that shone forth from his expressive face, had more deeply interested the young queen in his behalf than the soldier himself knew of.  He knew nothing of the envy realized by many of the courtiers when they saw the queen present him with the medal taken from her own neck, and that, too, of an order so distinguished as St. Sebastian.

“What sort of spirit has befriended you, Colonel Bezan?” said one of his early friends; “luck seems to lavish her efforts upon you.”

“I have been lucky,” replied the soldier.

“Lucky! the whole court rings with your praise, and the queen delights to honor you.”

“The queen has doubly repaid my poor services,” continued the young officer.

“Where will you stop, colonel?”

“Stop?”

“Yes; when will you have done with promotion?-at a general’s commission?”

“No fear of that honor being very quickly tendered to me,” was the reply; while at the same moment he secretly felt how much he should delight in every stop that raised him in rank, and thus entitled him to positions and honor.

Such conversations were not unfrequent; for those who did not particularly envy him, were still much surprised at his rapid growth in favor with the throne, his almost magic success in battle, and delighted at the prompt reward which he met in payment for the exercise of those qualities which they could not themselves but honor.