“My word, he was in a state of mind, wasn’t he? our Colonel.”
Dormer had the clearest possible presentiment that the moment the door closed upon them, the Colonel had said ‘Pan’ in imitation of a cork being snapped into a bottle, and that all the rest of the officers had laughed. So he said:
“What on earth is behind all this, Dendrecourt?”
“Why, nothing, except the dignity of France.”
“The whole job is only worth a pound or two. I’d have paid it out of my own pocket rather than have all this about it.”
“Well, of course, you may have enough money to do it, but, my dear Dormer, a few pounds in England is a good many francs in France, not only in exchange value, but in sentiment. Then, no one likes having his grandmother’s tomb broken into——”
“I suppose they will get over it, if they are paid enough money,” rejoined Dormer, bitterly, for it was exactly what he had heard before.
“Certainly!” replied Dendrecourt, without noticing, “but it is most unfortunate at this moment. There is a religious revival in France. A new Commander-in-Chief and a new spirit, and these insults to the religious sentiment are very trying. Then there is the insult to the Mayor.”
“Oh, devil take the Mayor!”
The Frenchman shrugged. “The devil has taken all of us, my friend. We are a sacrificed generation. You find the Mayor of Hondebecq annoying. So do I. But not more than everything else. You would not like it if French soldiers laughed at an English Mayor!”