The old man gazed at his daughter in pride and exultation.
"Listen to her modesty—no glory, says she; a little conscript returns a captain, and no glory! Hola, there, Havet, order food and wine. Mon Dieu, Louise, you have seen adversity, you are thin and in rags, to-morrow you shall have new uniform!—the Emperor already assembles a new army to chastise these Cossacks. Mort de ma vie, my daughter, you shall die a marshal, I swear it!"
Louise did not think it necessary to chill the old man's happiness by telling him that to-morrow she would return to the ordinary costume of her sex; that she was sick of man's attire and of war and all that appertained to the profession of arms; that she was, indeed, weary of life itself and longed to be where Henri d'Estreville was, at rest among the frozen pine-trees in some snow-covered Russian forest.
The evening proved a painful one for Louise, who did her best, however, to maintain a cheerful demeanour, while her father—to whom this was, perhaps, the happiest hour of his life—held forth upon his favourite theme of glory and honour and a marshal's baton in store for Louise, and so forth. Young Havet was to take part in the coming war; if possible he should enlist in Michel Prevost's regiment (the old man laughed heartily as he pronounced the name!), and perhaps Louise would do her best to assist him in his military career.
When the trying evening was over and Louise parted with her sister for the night, Marie took her aside.
"You are depressed, sister, what ails you?" she said. "Oh, I can see plainly that all is not well. Are you ill in body?"
"I am worn and weary, sister; yes, I am depressed; who would not be, that has seen the sights that I have seen since Moscow?"
"Ah—ah! You are not so much in love with war as father would have you?"
"In love with war—bah! It is devil's work, Marie, unsuccessful war, at any rate."
"Tell me, sister, have you seen Henri d'Estreville, is he well?"