"Hush, gentlemen—hush, for God's sake and for hers—upon your honour, hush!" said Monjoy, in a husky voice, as he replaced the locket in his breast, and his cheek grew very pale.
"I know your sad story, and hers too," said the chevalier in a whisper; "but are you wise to carry this trinket about with you?"
"'Tis all of her that evil fate has left me!" sighed Monjoy, filling his glass with wine.
"But—but suppose you were killed in action, and this portrait was found upon you?"
"Well?"
"Would it not compromise the honour of madame?"
"With none who knew our wretched history," replied Monjoy, in a broken voice, and with a tremulous manner; "but let us return to the affair of our friend."
"The Duc de Broglie knows not all the on dits of Paris and Versailles," said the chevalier, with an air of annoyance.
"The old man thinks only of brigades and squadrons, of advances and retreats, and of pontoon-bridges on the Rhine and Weser; but—a word in your ear, M. Gauntlet: if he knew all that was reported, you might perhaps have not fared quite so well in Ysembourg to-day."
"I do not comprehend," said I, coldly, perhaps haughtily.