“Oh,” said Count Haga, as coldly as Cagliostro himself, “you must have been at least ten years old, when you were at that memorable battle.”
“A terrible defeat, count,” returned Cagliostro.
“Less terrible than Cressy, however,” said Condorcet, smiling.
“True, sir, for at the battle of Cressy, it was not only an army, but all France, that was beaten; but then this defeat was scarcely a fair victory to the English; for King Edward had cannon, a circumstance of which Philip de Valois was ignorant, or rather, which he would not believe, although I warned him that I had with my own eyes seen four pieces of artillery which Edward had bought from the Venetians.”
“Ah,” said Madame Dubarry; “you knew Philip de Valois?”
“Madame, I had the honor to be one of the five lords who escorted him off the field of battle; I came to France with the poor old King of Bohemia, who was blind, and who threw away his life when he heard that the battle was lost.”
“Ah, sir,” said M. de la Pérouse, “how much I regret, that instead of the battle of Cressy, it was not that of Actium at which you assisted.”
“Why so, sir?”
“Oh, because you might have given me some nautical details, which, in spite of Plutarch’s fine narration, have ever been obscure to me.”
“Which, sir? I should be happy to be of service to you.”