“Safer than pursue a flying enemy?”
“Even so. It is not Russia, nor Austria, we have in the field against us; but Europe,—the world.”
“With all my heart,” retorted the other, boldly; “nor do I think the odds unfair. All I would ask is, the General Bonaparte of Cairo or Marengo, and not the purple-clad Emperor of the Tuileries.”
“It is not while the plain is yet reeking with the blood of Austerlitz that such a reproach should be spoken,” said I, indignantly. “Never was Bonaparte greater than Napoleon.”
“Monsieur has served in Egypt?” said the young man, contemptuously, while he measured me from head to foot.
“Would that I had! Would that I could give whatever years I may have before me, for those whose every day shall live in history!”
“You are right, young man,” said the old colonel; “they were glorious times, and a worthy prelude to the greatness that followed them.”
“A bright promise of the future,—never to come,” rejoined the younger, with a flash of anger on his cheek.
“Parbleu, sir, you speak boldly!” said a harsh, low voice from behind. We turned: it was Napoleon, dressed in a gray coat, all covered with fur, and looking like one of the couriers of the army. “I did not know my measures were so freely canvassed as I find them. Who are you, sir?”
“Legrange, Sire, chef d'escadron of the Second Voltigeurs,” said the young man, trembling from head to foot while he uncovered his head, and stood, cap in hand, before him.