"Bon jour, my dear Frederic! How handsome you look in your kepi! Your
uniform is brilliantly fresh from the soil of powder. What a contrast to
the tatterdemalions of the Line!"

"I fear," said Lemercier, ruefully, "that my costume will not look so
well a day or two hence. I have just had news that will no doubt seem
very glorious--in the news papers. But then newspapers are not subjected
to cannonballs."

"What do you mean?" answered De Breze.

"I met, as I emerged from my apartment a few minutes ago, that fire-
eater, Victor de Mauleon, who always contrives to know what passes at
headquarters. He told me that preparations are being made for a great
sortie. Most probably the announcement will appear in a proclamation
tomorrow, and our troops march forth to-morrow night. The National Guard
(fools and asses who have been yelling out for decisive action) are to
have their wish, and to be placed in the van of battle,--amongst the
foremost, the battalion in which I am enrolled. Should this be our last
meeting on earth, say that Frederic Lemercier has finished his part in
life with eclat."

"Gallant friend," said De Breze, feebly seizing him by the arm, "if it be
true that thy mortal career is menaced, die as thou hast lived. An
honest man leaves no debt unpaid. Thou owest me a dinner."

"Alas! ask of me what is possible. I will give thee three, however, if I
survive and regain my _rentes_. But today I have not even a mouse to
share with Fox."