“I am convinced of what I say,” said the count.
“Now, inform me count,” said Raoul, fixing a penetrating look upon him, “what has happened to render you so clear-sighted?”
Guiche hesitated for a moment, and then answered, “Self-love, I suppose.”
“Self-love is a pedantic word, Guiche.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that, generally, you are less out of spirits than seems to be the case this evening.”
“I am fatigued.”
“Listen to me, Guiche; we have been campaigners together; we have been on horseback for eighteen hours at a time, and our horses dying from exhaustion, or hunger, have fallen beneath us, and yet we have laughed at our mishaps. Believe me, it is not fatigue that saddens you to-night.”
“It is annoyance, then.”
“What annoyance?”