“I have come to ask a favor of your majesty.”
“Ha! that is well. I am glad of that. Do you know, that boy of yours has behaved admirably,” he said, facing round and looking at the marquis.
“We are accustomed to fight, sire,” replied M. de Gondriac. “It came naturally to my son; he had, moreover, the advantage of drawing his maiden sword under a great captain.”
“I mean to keep him by me. I have appointed him on my own staff. We are not done with war. I am raising troops for a campaign in the spring.”
“Sire, I am aware of it; it is precisely about that that I have come to speak to your majesty. There is in my village a widow whose two sons have fallen in the service of the country; there remains to her one more son, a lad of nineteen....”
“And she is ambitious that he should share the glorious fate of his brothers; that is natural,” broke in the emperor.
“Sire, she is a widow, and this boy is all she has in the world. It is no longer possible to procure a substitute; therefore I come to crave at your hands his exemption from the service.”
“What! you would rob France of a soldier, when they are so scarce that gold cannot buy one? Is this your notion of duty to your country, M. de Gondriac? Is it thus you aristocrats understand patriotism?” The emperor confronted him with a flashing eye.
“My son has answered that question, sire.”
“Tut! And because, forsooth, your son has done his duty, you would have other men’s sons betray theirs! A peasant makes as good a soldier as a peer, let me tell you. Because your son condescended to share the glory of the grande armée you expect me to make you a present of a strong young soldier! I do not understand such sentimental logic.”