Luc flushed to his brow and his reserve vanished again.
“If you think that,” he replied earnestly, “it is clear that you have never been with the army.”
“The army!” repeated the other with an air of cynical haughtiness, and Luc began to be impatient with the gloomy voluptuary who appeared to be sunk in such a sloth of mind that he was incapable even of appreciation.
“Had you been with us during the retreat from Prague, Monsieur, you would know how real heroism can be; there was neither profit nor glory for many thousands there who lay down to die in the snow—content to serve the King.”
The stranger gazed at him without a change of expression.
“What do you hope for at Court?” he asked.
“I have nothing to offer but my zeal,” replied Luc, “and I expect nothing but some scope in which to serve His Majesty.”
He was answered by a short laugh.
“I repeat that you are quite unique, Monsieur.”
“There are more men in France than you or I could count, Monsieur, who feel as I,” returned Luc proudly, “and you are unfortunate that you have spent your life in such a fashion as never to have met them.”