“I never can fully thank you, my son, for your kindness in looking on my humble work. I will not decide to-day. First I must add foliage in the foreground. And I will give it my earnest prayer.”
Menard said farewell and went out, leaving the priest gazing at the picture. He strolled back toward the citadel, stopping now and then to greet an old friend or a chance acquaintance. When he arrived at the headquarters in the citadel he found Danton, a brown-haired young lieutenant of engineers, gazing at a heap of plans and other papers on the table.
“Well, Captain Menard,” was his greeting, 18 “I’d give half of last year’s pay, if I ever get it, to feel as lazy as you look.”
“You are lazy enough,” growled Menard.
“That begs the question. It is not how lazy a man is, but how lazy he gets a chance to be.”
“If you’d been through what I have this spring, you’d deserve a rest.”
“You must have had a stirring time,” said the Lieutenant. “Major Provost has promised to let me go out with the line when the campaign starts. I’ve not had a brush since I came over.”
Menard gave him a quizzical smile before he replied, “You’ll get brushes enough.”
“By the way, the Major wants to see you.”
“Does he?” said Menard.