"I have a beautiful nature," the American replied quietly, "and I accept the decrees of Providence in a chastened spirit. We came to capture a town and a king, and we have captured—a curling-rink! Unfortunately we have sent the curling-stones down the bob-sleigh run, so we are unable to derive much benefit from our achievement."
Bernhardt looked wonderingly at the other.
"And men call me mad," he said after a pause.
"And with reason," retorted Trafford. "You are a Napoleon in parvo, a man who desires big things quite apart from their intrinsic value. You want a kingdom for your playground, and princes for your playthings; that is what scientists call megalomania, and I, bad taste. There are better things at hand for the normal man: a wife and children and a good conscience."
"A coward's creed!" was Bernhardt's comment.
"Maybe, but mine."
Bernhardt tossed his head in despairing amazement.
"To think that you of all men should sink so hopelessly at our first rebuff!—Trafford, the hero of the revolution, is no better than a craven!"
"There is more than one kind of cowardice, Bernhardt," rejoined Trafford without heat; "and I admit I was a coward in the Marienkastel, when the shells dropped and buried men alive under tottering walls. I don't think I was ever afraid before, but then I had never been in action with—with a woman."
"But 'perfect love casteth out fear,'" mocked Bernhardt.