“Mademoiselle, you probably know what you are about; but a Republican has his own ideas, and his own dignity. I cannot serve where women command. The First Consul will receive my resignation to-morrow; others, who are not of my stripe, may obey you. I do not understand my orders and therefore I stop short,—all the more because I am supposed to understand them.”
There was silence for a moment, but it was soon broken by the young lady, who went up to the commandant and held out her hand, saying, “Colonel, though your beard is somewhat long, you may kiss my hand; you are, indeed, a man!”
“I flatter myself I am, mademoiselle,” he replied, depositing a kiss upon the hand of this singular young woman rather awkwardly. “As for you, friend,” he said, threatening the young man with his finger, “you have had a narrow escape this time.”
“Commandant,” said the youth, “it is time all this nonsense should cease; I am ready to go with you, if you like, to headquarters.”
“And bring your invisible owl, Marche-a-Terre?”
“Who is Marche-a-Terre?” asked the young man, showing all the signs of genuine surprise.
“Didn’t he hoot just now?”
“What did that hooting have to do with me, I should like to know? I supposed it was your soldiers letting you know of their arrival.”
“Nonsense, you did not think that.”
“Yes, I did. But do drink that glass of Bordeaux; the wine is good.”