“Ah!” gasped the confessor.
“And I have broken my cane on his back. Have I offended God?”
“No, my son, no,” replied the holy man. “It is merely that the excitement may be harmful to your precious health.”
Fortunately the cane, being of slenderest rosewood, had easily snapped.
Before the end of the next campaign, the redoubtable Duc du Maine was recalled: d’Elbœuf hastened to say to him, making a profound bow, “Have the goodness, Monseigneur, to inform me where you propose entering on the next campaign.”
The duke turned, smiling, and extended his hand to d’Elbœuf, whose ironical tones he had failed to perceive.
“Wherever it is,” added d’Elbœuf, “I should wish to be there.”
“Why?” demanded the duke.
“Because,” replied d’Elbœuf, after a silence, “at least one’s life would be safe.”