“Your army will save us, my good friend,” said the man of majestic presence.
“This army will save the cause,” said the younger officer.
There was a look of hope in his face that revealed to Dennis that he had some secret ground for this confidence.
Washington moved away to his marquee.
Dennis, hat in hand, said to Lafayette:
“May I detain you a moment, your Honor?”
“Yes, my honest man; what would you have? I hope that it may be something that I can grant.”
“Do you remember that day when you spoke of a body of men as the bugles of Auvergne?”
“Yes, my good friend, and how do those words impress you?”
“I can never tell. They are words within words. What I want to ask of you is—pardon my bluntness, I was not bred in courts, as you see—couldn’t you induce those men who blow the bugles of Ovan to come here and give us a lift? My heart tells me that they would be just the men we would need. I don’t so much hear words as the spirit of things, and the heart knows its own.”