"Eh, eh, monsieur le journaliste, you find us very gay?"

"I find you very brave," said Rouletabille quietly.

"How is that?" said Feodor Feodorovitch, smiling.

"You must pardon me for thinking of the things that you seem to
have forgotten entirely."

He indicated the general's wounded leg.

"The chances of war! the chances of war!" said the general. "A leg
here, an arm there. But, as you see, I am still here. They will
end by growing tired and leaving me in peace. Your health, my
friend!"

"Your health, general!"

"You understand," continued Feodor Feodorovitch, "there is no
occasion to excite ourselves. It is our business to defend the
empire at the peril of our lives. We find that quite natural, and
there is no occasion to think of it. I have had terrors enough in
other directions, not to speak of the terrors of love, that are
more ferocious than you can yet imagine. Look at what they did to
my poor friend the Chief of the Surete, Boichlikoff. He was
commendable certainly. There was a brave man. Of an evening, when
his work was over, he always left the bureau of the prefecture and
went to join his wife and children in their apartment in the ruelle
des Loups. Not a soldier! No guard! The others had every chance.