Damas. Our comrades are very inquisitive. Poor Morier is the subject of a vast deal of curiosity.
First Officer. Say interest, rather, general. His constant melancholy, the loneliness of his habits,—his daring valor, his brilliant rise in the profession,—your friendship, and the favors of the commander-in-chief,—all tend to make him as much the matter of gossip as of admiration. But where is he, general? I have missed him all the morning.
Damas. Why, captain, I’ll let you into a secret. My young friend has come with me to Lyons in hopes of finding a miracle.
First Officer. A miracle!
Damas. Yes, a miracle! in other words,—a constant woman.
First Officer. Oh! an affair of love!
Damas. Exactly so. No sooner did he enter Lyons than he waved his hand to me, threw himself from his horse, and is now, I warrant, asking every one who can know anything about the matter, whether a certain lady is still true to a certain gentleman!
First Officer. Success to him! and of that success there can be no doubt. The gallant Colonel Morier, the hero of Lodi, might make his choice out of the proudest families in France.
Damas. Oh, if pride be a recommendation, the lady and her mother are most handsomely endowed. By the way, captain, if you should chance to meet with Morier, tell him he will find me at the hotel.
First Officer. I will, general. [Exit.