“The general will mark a black cross on one lot, and he who draws it wins the command.”
The young colonels prepared their lots with almost boyish eagerness. These fiery spirits were sick to death of lying and skulking in the trenches. They flung their lots into the hat. After them, who should approach the hat, lot in hand, but Raynal. Dujardin instantly interfered, and held his arm as he was in the act of dropping in his lot.
“What is the matter?” said Raynal, sharply.
“This is our affair, Colonel Raynal. You have no command in this army.”
“I beg your pardon, sir, I have yours.”
“Not till to-morrow.”
“Why, you would not take such a pettifogging advantage of an old comrade as that.”
“Tell him the day ends at twelve o’clock,” said one of the colonels interested by this strange strife.
“Ah!” cried Raynal, triumphantly; “but no,” said he, altering his tone, “let us leave that sort of argument to lawyers. I have come a good many miles to fight with you, general; and now you must decide to pay me this little compliment on my arrival, or put a bitter affront on me—choose!”
While the old general hesitated, Camille replied, “Since you take that tone there can be but one answer. You are too great a credit to the French army for even an apparent slight to be put on you here. The rule, I think, is, that one of the privates shall hold the hat.—Hallo! Private Dard, come here—there—hold this hat.”