‘And thou shalt have it. A thousand blessings follow those who go forth to the good fight. But thou art yet young, Maurice--too young for this. Thou needest time, and much teaching, too. He who would brave the enemy before us, must be skilful as well as courageous. Thou art as yet but a child.’ ‘The general said he liked boy-soldiers,’ said I promptly; ‘he told me so himself.’ ‘What general--who told thee?’ cried the père, in trembling eagerness. ‘General Lacoste, the Chef d’État-major of the army of the Rhine; the same who gave me a rendezvous for to-morrow at his quarters.’ It was not till I had repeated my explanation again and again, nor, indeed, until I had recounted all the circumstances of my last night’s adventure, that the poor père could be brought to see his way through a mystery that had almost become equally embarrassing to myself. When he did, however, detect the clue, and when he had perceived the different tracks on which our minds were travelling, his grief burst all bounds. He inveighed against the armies of the Republic as hordes of pillagers and bandits, the sworn enemies of the Church, the desecrators of her altars. Their patriotism he called a mere pretence to shroud their infidelity. Their heroism was the bloodthirstiness of democratic cruelty. Seeing me still unmoved by all this passionate declamation, he adopted another tactic, and suddenly asked me if it were for such a cause as this my father had been a soldier? ‘No!’ replied I firmly; ‘for when my father was alive, the soil of France had not been desecrated by the foot of the invader. The Austrian, the Prussian, the Englishman, had not yet dared to dictate the laws under which we were to live.’ He appeared thunderstruck at my reply, revealing, as it seemed to him, the extent of those teachings, whose corruptions he trembled at. ‘I knew it, I knew it!’ cried he bitterly, as he wrung his hands. ‘The seed of the iniquity is sown--the harvest-time will not be long in coming! And so, boy, thou hast spoken with one of these men--these generals, as they call themselves, of that republican horde?’ ‘The officer who commands the artillery of the army of the Rhine may write himself general with little presumption,’ said I, almost angrily. ‘They who once led our armies to battle were the nobles of France--men whose proud station was the pledge for their chivalrous devotion. But why do I discuss the question with thee? He who deserts his faith may well forget that his birth was noble. Go, boy, join those with whom your heart is already linked. Tour lesson will be an easy one--you have nothing to unlearn. The songs of the Girondins are already more grateful to your ear than our sacred canticles. Go, I say, since between us henceforth there can be no companionship.’ ‘Will you not bless me, père,’ said I, approaching him in deep humility; ‘will you not let me carry with me thy benediction?’