But he was scarcely more fortunate here. “Of course you are not,” returned the young lady sharply, her dark eyes flashing. “I heard a gentleman tell my father that the Czar is inviting all manner of clever, capable people to go to Russia; but for any one who is—who is, well, just ordinary, you know, he has no particular welcome.”
In the meantime Stéphanie’s allusion to Russian bears had occasioned remark. Ivan told some stories about them which were rather amusing than terrible; for bears, like nobler animals who run away when they are attacked, sometimes make themselves ridiculous. Amidst the laughter which followed, Madame de Salgues’s valet made a whispered communication—“Madame, there is an old soldier without, who wishes to speak with the young gentleman.”
“With what young gentleman?”
“The young gentleman of the house, he says, madame.”
“Then ask M. de Talmont to go to him at once, and see what he wants,” said Madame de Salgues with a nervous air. The capital and its environs swarmed with old soldiers of Napoleon, who were needy and discontented, longing for any kind of political change, and in the meantime, if report said true, not always despising robbery and violence as less desirable but still legitimate means of repairing their ruined fortunes.
Henri went into the hall, closing the door behind him. He saw in the lamp-light a tall, gaunt figure, wrapped in an old greatcoat, which covered a shabby uniform, but did not conceal the cross and two medals glittering on the breast of the faded tunic.
“I beg your pardon, monsieur,” said the soldier in a voice Henri seemed to recognize. “It was not you I wished to see, but the young gentleman who belongs to the Ecole Polytechnique.”
“Surely I know you—surely I have seen you somewhere,” said Henri, looking attentively at the bronzed, weather-beaten features of the old man.
The veteran shook his head. “You have the advantage of me, monsieur,” he said.
But after another brief scrutiny a light flashed over the mind of Henri, reflecting itself in his face. He advanced cordially and took the soldier’s bony hand in his. “Pierre Rougeard of the Old Guard,” he said, “I am heartily glad to see you. I thought you were with the dead.”