"Dear uncle, you know very well I did not wheel in line in support of the Orleans dynasty. No more than you, do I love them. I simply joined the army, because I have a military turn of mind. The army has but one opinion—discipline. In short, if your foresight is correct—and your trained experience inclines me to the belief that you are not mistaken—then a battle will be fought this very day. Under such circumstances I would be a despicable wretch to hand in my resignation on the eve of an encounter."
"Then you are determined to run the risk of being riddled with bullets or brained by the mob on a barricade—in the interest of the Orleans dynasty?"
"I am a soldier—I am determined to fulfil the duties of my profession."
"But, you devil of a stubborn block! Suppose you are killed, our house would then fall from the lance to the distaff."
"I promised you I would marry at forty—"
"But until then—think of it—these street fights are disgraceful—to die in the mud of the gutters, killed by a lot of beggars!"
"Before it came to that I would have treated myself to the sport of hewing several of them down with my saber," coolly replied the colonel. "In that event it will not be difficult for you to find some sturdy Plouernel bastard of my own making—whom you will then adopt, uncle. He will perpetuate my name. Bastards often have brought good luck to great houses."
"Triple fool! To play with your life in that manner! And that at the very moment when the future smiles upon us as it never smiled before! At the moment when, after having been beaten, kicked and cuffed by the descendants of the men who for fourteen centuries were our vassals and serfs, we are about to wipe out at a single stroke these last fifty years of shame! At the moment when, instructed by experience, and aided by the course of events, we are about to resume our power and become even mightier than we were in 1789! Go to—I pity you! You are right, races degenerate!" exclaimed the intractable old man, rising. "I would despair of our cause if all our people were like you."
The valet, stepping in again after rapping at the door, said to the Count of Plouernel:
"Monsieur Count, the linendraper of St. Denis Street has arrived. He is waiting in the ante-chamber."