“Not I.”
“Of delicacy, then.”
“Just the reverse. Confound the young dog! why is he not here to help me?”
“But, after all,” suggested Josephine, “you have only to carry out his instructions.”
“That is true! that is true! but when a fellow is a coward, a poltroon, and all that sort of thing.”
This repeated assertion of cowardice on the part of the living Damascus blade that stood bolt-upright before her, struck Josephine as so funny that she laughed merrily, and bade him fancy it was only a fort he was attacking instead of the terrible Josephine; whom none but heroes feared, she assured him.
This encouragement, uttered in jest, was taken in earnest. The soldier thanked her, and rallied visibly at the comparison. “All right,” said he, “as you say, it is only a fort—so—mademoiselle!”
“Monsieur!”
“Hum! will you lend me your hand for a moment?”
“My hand! what for? there,” and she put it out an inch a minute. He took it, and inspected it closely.