“Oh, a student too, and a farmer, I suppose.”
“Indeed! Why, a big, healthy, young lad like you ought to be a soldier, and learn to fight for his country, like a true son of Rome.”
“Hah!” cried Marcus, flushing up and frowning, while the visitor watched him intently.
“I knew just such a boy as you who grew up to be a general, a great soldier as well as a student who could use his pen.”
“Ah, that’s what I should like to be,” cried the boy, springing from his seat with his eyes flashing, as his imagination seemed fired. “That’s what Serge says.”
“What does Serge say?” asked the visitor.
“Just what you do,” cried the boy, boldly; “that I might grow up to be a great soldier, and still read and use my pen.”
“Well, why not?” said the guest, as he slowly broke off and ate a grape.
The boy frowned and shook his head.
“It is a man’s duty to be ready to draw his sword for his country like a brave citizen, and that country’s son,” continued the guest, warmly, while the boy watched him eagerly, and leaned forward with one hand resting upon the table as if he was drinking in every word that fell from the other’s lips.