“Lieutenant,” replied the young sailor, bowing, as Emanuel had done before.
“I was about to say, then, my dear lieutenant, I do not ask a physiological lecture on the passions of Captain Paul. I only wish to inform myself upon two points. Firstly, whether you consider him a man of honor?”
“We must first of all understand each other as to the meaning of words, my dear count—what is your precise definition of the word honor?”
“Permit me to remark, my dear lieutenant, that this question is a most singular one. Honor! Why, honor—is—honor.”
“That’s it precisely—a word without a definition, like the word God! God—is God! and every one creates a God after his own fashion. The Egyptians adored him under the form of a scorpion—the Israelites, under that of a golden calf. So it is with honor. There is the honor of Camillus, and that of Coriolanus—that of the Cid, and that of Count Julian. Define your question better if you wish me to reply to it.”
“I ask, then, whether his word may be relied upon?”
“I do not believe he ever failed in that regard. His enemies—and no one can arrive to his station without having them—even his enemies, I say, have never doubted that he would keep, even unto death, an oath which he had sworn to. This point is, therefore, believe me, fully settled. In this respect, he is a man of honor. Let us pass, therefore, to your second question, for if I do not deceive myself, you wish to know something farther.”
“Yes, I wish to know whether he would faithfully obey an order given by his Majesty?”
“What Majesty?”
“Really, my dear lieutenant, you affect a difficulty of comprehension which would better suit the gown of a sophist, than a naval uniform.”