"I was merely instrumental. The officer who had the honour to escort the baroness to Gazan's outposts was killed soon afterwards, when Soult forced the passes."
"On the 25th. Twenty devils! I was there," said the baron, turning up his eyes. "Bloody work it was, and your mountaineers defended the hills with a valour bordering on madness. Your health! monsieur. 'Tis plain vin ordinaire, this; I am restricted to its use, but the decanter next you contains Lafitte."
"I will take Lafitte, with your permission."
The baron bowed.
"Vive l'Empereur," muttered De Mesmai as he raised his glass, while the baron held up one finger warningly, and cast a furtive glance at the door. "I pray to Heaven," continued the captain, whom some old recollections had excited, "that the violet may return to France in the spring." He drank enthusiastically. The baron emptied his glass in silence, and Ronald did the same, although he knew that the violet meant Napoleon, who was known by that name among his friends and adherents.
"Well, Maurice; I heard you were about to be married to a widow with three streets,—old Madame Berthollet, of the Rue de Rivoli," said the baron. "Or perhaps you are already married?"
"Diable! monsieur," said De Mesmai, indignantly; "do I look like a married man!"
"I know not, Maurice; but I imagine that the gay old lady would have little reason to rejoice in her domestic speculation. You are the best man in Paris to make her golden Louis and Napoleons vanish like frost in the sunshine. And so, monsieur," addressing Stuart, "your regiment marches to-morrow?"
"For Calais, viá Montfort, where we shall be joined by two other Scottish regiments, which are also under orders for home."
"A good voyage to the gallant Scots! as our fashionable song says," replied the baron, emptying his glass.