'Captain Chauvin,' resumed the Irishman, 'you have been a soldier.'
The old Frenchman bowed acquiescence.
'So have I. You have fought under many generals?'
'I fought under the greatest master of war France ever produced, or the world ever crowned with glory!' and the aged voice swelled and the aged eye brightened.
'Did you ever remark that, while some would be cautiously laying their parallels and making all the preparations of military science to take a fortified town, others would trust to luck, rush to the attack at once, and seize the citadel by storm? The gods often favour audacity.'
'The audacity of genius—such audacity as Napoleon possessed. Oh! I admire the brave man who rushes forward boldly to his aim.'
The O'Hoolohan Roe was getting more at ease; a smile might even be detected lurking at the corners of his mouth.
'The soldier's life is not always happy, captain; the camp and the barrack have their excitement, but there is a—a—a sort of an emptiness.'
'Alas! yes,' and the old man sighed and carried his hand to his face. 'Alas! yes'—he brushed away something from the neighbourhood of his eye; 'these pestering flies, how early in the season they come this year! Here is one has got under my lashes and brings the water down my cheeks. We were speaking about the soldier's life. Have you ever read Michelet's treatise on Love?'
The voice was broken.