“I never expected to see you here,” said Ted as they quitted the room.
“I suppose not. As soon as I heard that the pater had been given permission to raise a corps I asked him to apply for my exchange. He did so, and here I am. Knowing that you would prefer this sort of work to being in the regulars, I asked him to put in a word for you also. I cracked you up no end as a horseman and soldier.”
“You’re a brick! It was jolly good of you to think of it. I suppose you didn’t much care to be under Hodson after what’s happened?”
Claude Boldre turned on Ted with a queer expression in his eyes—half vexation, half amusement.
“You’re alluding to the shooting of the old emperor’s sons, I suppose?” said he.
Ted nodded. “Hodson’s a brave man—there’s no one who risks his own life more; but one can hardly respect an English officer who could deliberately shoot his prisoners in cold blood.”
“Cold blood be hanged, Russell! Your blood wouldn’t be very cold if you were faced by ten times your own number, clamouring for the rescue of your prisoners.”
“Perhaps not, but they were not resisting. They were not showing fight, and he ought not to have killed them. They were men like himself, but he showed no more compunction than if they’d been wolves or tigers.”
“Those prisoners were a jolly sight worse than wolves or tigers, Russell, a jolly sight more wicked. I don’t think you can know the whole story. Hodson has a number of enemies because he’s been so prominent, and he is rather arrogant and zubberdusty (high-handed) at times. He has trodden on other people’s corns, and they’ve been too ready to believe the worst without taking all the circumstances into account.”
“But, you know, he got into trouble over the Guides,” Ted interrupted. “Falsified the accounts and collared the money, or something of the sort.”