"Quite right! I wouldn't"—a snap of the fingers, and then a lizard-like dart into the palm of the hand.
"You mean to say you took French leave of the Seminary?"
At this we both laughed. The gesture next following—a smack on the palm of the hand illustrated by a little equitation on the back of a chair—gave me to understand that my visitor had then become a soldier.
"At four-and-twenty I was a lieutenant. I lay at Cracow for two years. I served in the Hungarian war from beginning to end. I am now thirty-four years old. And still I am only a lieutenant. Curious, isn't it?"
I agreed with him that it was certainly most surprising.
"My other comrades—no, not comrades, that's a French word."
"Bajtarsai?"[94] I suggested.
[94] "Your comrades"—the Hungarian equivalent.
"Yes, of course! my other bajtarsai all became captains and majors, and have got decorations. I've nothing! Nothing, I tell you! And I'm pretty plucky too. I'm a good horseman—I've never given offence—I understand my duties. What do you think the cause is?"
I really was curious myself to know the cause of this misadventure.