“Oh! an enormous thing. I should like to be a second Napoleon;” and Eugene’s eyes sparkled.
“I don’t take much stock in war,” said the sergeant.
“Do you mean that you would not fight?”
“No; I mean I don’t like it.”
“You do not—how very extraordinary. How does it happen?”
“Because I’ve been in it.”
“You have seen active service, have been in engagements,” exclaimed Eugene. “Oh! why did you not tell me?”
“It never occurred to me,” said the sergeant; “and unlike most men I’m not fond of talking of it.”
“Your rank,” said Eugene feverishly, “and the country you fought in, will you not tell me?”
“Rank, drummer-boy; country, my own native land and its last war; enemies, brother-men. Boy, I don’t like war.”