“That’s the female citizen Verneuil,” replied Corentin, sharply, looking jealously at the questioner; “a ci-devant; what is she to you?”
The stranger, who was humming a revolutionary tune, turned his head haughtily towards Corentin. The two young men looked at each other for a moment like cocks about to fight, and the glance they exchanged gave birth to a hatred which lasted forever. The blue eye of the young soldier was as frank and honest as the green eye of the other man was false and malicious; the manners of the one had native grandeur, those of the other were insinuating; one was eager in his advance, the other deprecating; one commanded respect, the other sought it.
“Is the citizen du Gua Saint-Cyr here?” said a peasant, entering the kitchen at that moment.
“What do you want of him?” said the young man, coming forward.
The peasant made a low bow and gave him a letter, which the young cadet read and threw into the fire; then he nodded his head and the man withdrew.
“No doubt you’ve come from Paris, citizen?” said Corentin, approaching the stranger with a certain ease of manner, and a pliant, affable air which seemed intolerable to the citizen du Gua.
“Yes,” he replied, shortly.
“I suppose you have been graduated into some grade of the artillery?”
“No, citizen, into the navy.”
“Ah! then you are going to Brest?” said Corentin, interrogatively.