"'Tis for the dry chaff," Gabord answered, "not for young grass—aho!"
He rose and made ready to leave, Voban with him. "The commissariat camps here in an hour or so," he said, with a ripe chuckle.
It was clear the new state of affairs was more to his mind than the long year's rigour and silence. It seemed to me strange then, and it has seemed so ever since, that during all that time I never was visited by Doltaire but once, and of that event I am going to write briefly here.
It was about two months before this particular morning that he came, greeting me courteously enough.
"Close quarters here," said he, looking round as if the place were new to him and smiling to himself.
"Not so close as we all come to one day," said I.
"Dismal comparison!" he rejoined; "you've lost your spirits."
"Not so," I retorted; "nothing but my liberty."
"You know the way to find it quickly," he suggested.
"The letters for La Pompadour?" I asked.