“Possibly, general.”
“I am certain; only I cannot recall your name.”
“You managed that yours should not be forgotten, general.”
“Who are you?”
“Ask Valence, general.”
Bonaparte gave a cry of joy.
“Louis de Montrevel,” he exclaimed, opening wide his arms. This time the young lieutenant did not hesitate to fling himself into them.
“Very good,” said Bonaparte; “you will serve eight days with the regiment in your new rank, that they may accustom themselves to your captain’s epaulets, and then you will take my poor Muiron’s place as aide-de-camp. Go!”
“Once more!” cried the young man, opening his arms.
“Faith, yes!” said Bonaparte, joyfully. Then holding him close after kissing him twice, “And so it was you who gave Valence that sword thrust?”