MAURICE
I am so happy, Count.
JEANNE
This is our second son. Our first son, Pierre, was killed at Liège—
COUNT CLAIRMONT
I dare not console you, Madame Grelieu. Give me your hand, Maurice.
MAURICE
Oh, Count! I am only a soldier. I dare not—
COUNT CLAIRMONT
My dear young man, I, too, am nothing but a soldier now. Your hand, comrade. That's the way. Master! My children and my wife have sent you flowers—but where are they? Oh! how absentminded I am.