The features of him he addressed suddenly lost their scornful expression, and sheathing his sword with an air of almost melodramatic solemnity, he gravely pulled up his mustaches, and after a pause of a few seconds, solemnly ejaculated a malediction upon his fortune.
“C’est toujours ainsi,” said he, with a bitterness that only a Frenchman can convey when cursing his destiny. “Soyez bon enfant, and see what will come of it. Only be good-natured, only be kind, and if you haven’t bad luck at the end of it, it’s only because fortune has a heavier stroke in reserve for you hereafter.”
I could not help smiling at the Frenchman’s philosophy, which, assuming as a good augury, he gayly said, “So, then, you’ll not make us prisoners. Isn’t it so?”
“Prisoners,” said the other, “nothing of the kind. Come and sup with us; I’ll venture to say our larder is as well stocked as your own; in any case an omelette, a cold chicken, and a glass of champagne are not bad things in our circumstances.”
I could not help laughing outright at the strangeness of the proposal. “I fear I must decline,” said I; “you seem to forget I am placed here to watch, not to join you.”
“A la bonne heure,” cried the younger of the two; “do both. Come along; soyez bon camarade; you are always near your own people, so don’t refuse us.”
In proportion as I declined, they both became more pressing in their entreaties, and at last, I began to dread lest my refusal might seem to proceed from some fear as to the good faith of the invitation, and I never felt so awkwardly placed as when one plumply pressed me by saying,—
“Mais pourquoi pas, mon cher?”
I stammered out something about duty and discipline, when they both interrupted me by a long burst of laughter.
“Come, come!” said they; “in an hour—in half an hour, if you will—you shall be back with your own people. We’ve had plenty of fighting latterly, and we are likely to have enough in future; we know something of each other by this time in the field; let us see how we get on in the bivouac!”