"In our service we have a legion of several thousands, and they are excellent troops."
"Monsieur, we have many legions. But the German is without chivalry or sentiment, and fitted only for the mere mechanical part of war. They fight for their daily pay: honour they value not; to them 'tis as moonshine in the water, an unsubstantial glitter."
"You are severe, Captain De Mesmai."
"I cannot speak of them in more gentle terms, when I remember that all the German prisoners you take from us invariably change banners, and enlist in your service. Several battalions have been raised among the Scottish military prisons of late. And these Germans—bah! But to the devil with them!"
"By the by,—who was your friend, with his arm in the sling? An officer of some rank, evidently?"
"Truly he is. I am glad you did not take him instead of me. Ah, monsieur, you have outwitted yourself confoundedly. What a prize he would have been to present to your general! That officer was Monsieur le Comte D'Erlon."
"D'Erlon!" exclaimed Ronald; "would to Heaven he would return."
"With the sabres of twenty chasseurs à cheval glittering behind him?"
"No, certainly. But, oh! had I only guessed his rank and fame, he should not have escaped me. I would either have taken, or cut him down in his saddle."
"That would have been a pity, for he is a famous old fellow; but it would have left the comtesse a widow, with I know not how many thousand livres in the year. I know she looks with favourable eyes on me,—but, sacre bleu! 'tis all in vain. I don't like ladies that are verging towards forty years."