“Ah! what a question. Why do you venture on the field of battle, where a bullet may plow through your breast or a cannon-ball lop off your head?”
“Permit me to say that that is different. On the battlefield I risk an honorable death.”
“Ah! do you suppose that on the day I get my head cut off by the revolutionary triangle I shall think myself dishonored? Not the least in the world. I am a soldier like you, only we can’t all serve our cause in the same way. Every religion has its heroes and its martyrs; happy the heroes in this world, and happy the martyrs in the next.”
The young man uttered these words with a conviction which moved, or rather astonished, Roland.
“But,” continued Morgan, abandoning his enthusiasm to revert to the gayety which seemed the distinctive trait of his character, “I did not come here to talk political philosophy. I came to ask you to let me speak to the First Consul.”
“What! speak to the First Consul?” exclaimed Roland.
“Of course. Read my letter over; did I not tell you that I had a request to make?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that request is to let me speak to General Bonaparte.”
“But permit me to say that as I did not expect that request—”