étérin gathered up from the table the papers which his captain pushed toward him. He said, moodily:—
"I am surprised at you. We shall all be killed while you are making love here. You may be very emotional, but you will have to tell that to the German advanced guard."
Nicolas La Hire rose and took his sabre from a chair in this, the best room of the auberge. He was commanding a scattered remnant of cuirassiers who were shadowed by a Prussian force. It was his intention to join the main body, but not only were there many obstacles in the way, but he had fallen very desperately in love with Rachel Nay, the sweetest and prettiest girl in Orgemont. He replied—by no means offended by the familiarity of his officer, for whom he had the greatest friendship:—
"You are needlessly alarmed. Besides, love speaks louder than a bugle-call."
"LOVE SPEAKS LOUDER THAN A BUGLE-CALL."
"But not so loud as a bomb, and that is what we shall get very soon. I am not afraid—I; but there is a time for making love and a time for making war. Then, consider your family. A farmer's pretty daughter is no match for a La Hire. And in any case you will not get her, for she is promised to that rascal Simon Mansart, who lives in the château on the hill yonder"; and Vétérin pointed through the unshuttered window, across the village, where the cottages bore a covering of snow, and the frozen road, to where a clump of acacias crowned an eminence.
"That is what troubles me," answered La Hire, beginning to pace the room. "If she is married to that man, whom she detests and fears—to that miser, that creature——!" he broke off suddenly, then continued: "It is a burning shame that this pure girl, this sweet Rachel, this wild-flower——!"
"Oh, come," interrupted Vétérin, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously, "if you are going to dilate in that strain——"