Third Officer. Promotion is quick in the French army. This mysterious Morier,—the hero of Lodi, and the favorite of the commander-in-chief,—has risen to a colonel’s rank to two years and a half. Enter DAMAS, as a General.
Damas. Good morrow, gentlemen; I hope you will amuse yourselves during our short stay at Lyons. It is a fine city: improved since I left it. Ah! it is a pleasure to grow old, when the years that bring decay to ourselves do but ripen the prosperity of our country. You have not met with Morier?
First Officer. No: we were just speaking of him.
Second Officer. Pray, general, can you tell us who this Morier really is?
Damas. Is!—why a colonel in the French army.
Third Officer. True. But what was he at first?
Damas. At first? Why a baby in long clothes, I suppose.
First Officer. Ha, ha! Ever facetious, general.
Second Officer. [to Third]. The general is sore upon this point; you will only chafe him.—Any commands, general?
Damas. None. Good day to you. [Exeunt Second and Third Officers.