‘Another glass now to the health of this fair lady, through whose intercession we owe the pleasure of your company,’ said the general.
‘Willingly,’ said I; ‘and may one so beautiful seldom find herself in a society so unworthy of her!’
A perfect roar of laughter succeeded the insolence of this speech; amid which I was half pushed, half dragged, up to the end of the table where the general sat.
‘How so, coquin; do you dare to insult a French general at the head of his own staff!’
‘If I did, sir, it were quite as brave as to mock a poor criminal on his way to his execution!’
‘That is the boy!—I know him now!—the very same lad!’ cried the lady, as, stooping behind Berthier’s chair, she stretched out her hand towards me. ‘Come here; are you not Colonel Mahon’s godson?’
I looked her full in the face; and whether her own thoughts gave the impulse, or that something in my stare suggested it, she blushed till her cheeks grew crimson.
‘Poor Charles was so fond of him!’ whispered she in Berthier’s ear; and as she spoke, the expression of her face at once recalled where I had seen her, and I now perceived that she was the same person I had seen at table with Colonel Mahon, and whom I believed to be his wife.
A low whispering conversation now ensued between the general and her, at the close of which he turned to me and said—
‘Madame Merlancourt has deigned to take an interest in you—you are pardoned. Remember, sir, to whom you owe your life, and be grateful to her for it.’