We immediately entered the dining-room with its barren walls like those of a school-room, but brightened by a great wood fire, which burned joyously on the hearth.
We sat down and the general placed me at his side; the menu was excellent and the wines perfect. My neighbor, in spite of his severe mask, was a very fine and spirited conversationist, also this dinner, I felt, was for me a real luxury, inasmuch as I had the pleasure of finding myself in the company of this man of esprit.
One spoke naturally of the war and I stated that in my opinion this epoch did not resemble the others from the point of view of the relations that could exist between two adversaries in the course of hostilities. In effect, it was our custom in youth to recite of truce-parties who came with bandaged eyes into enemy lines to make one or another communication to the commander of the adverse troops.
I added that the perfection of the art of destruction had killed the romantic side of war and that it was very regrettable.
The general protested, remarking that adventurous examples were not lacking, and as far as he was concerned, he was able to relate a story within his knowledge that was worth the trouble of telling.
This is what he told us and to which we all listened with very great silence.
Some months before war was declared, one of my old friends on his death bed urgently recommended his son to me.
The young Count de Marnac was a worthy youngster, and to his misfortune—and to mine—he was a Camelot du Roi.[15]