As for him, he resumed his walk between the terrace and the drawing-room. He strode with long, even steps, holding his body erect, his chest flung out and his hands in the pockets of his jacket, a blue-drill gardening-jacket, with the point of a pruning-shears and the stem of a pipe sticking out of it. He was tall and broad-shouldered; and his fresh-coloured face seemed young still, in spite of the fringe of white beard in which it was framed. "Ah," he exclaimed, "what a treat to set eyes upon our dear Philippe again! It must be three years since we saw him last. Yes, of course, not since his appointment as professor of history in Paris. By Jove, the chap has made his way in the world! What a time we shall give him during the fortnight that he's with us! Walking ... exercise.... He's all for the open-air life, like old Morestal!" He began to laugh: "Shall I tell you what would be the thing for him? Six months in camp between this and Berlin!" "I'm not afraid," she declared. "He's been through the Normal School. The professors keep to their garrisons in time of war." "What nonsense are you talking now?" "The school-master told me so." He gave a start: "What! Do you mean to say you still speak to that dastard?" "He's quite a decent man," she replied. "He! A decent man! With theories like his!" She hurried from the room, to escape the explosion. But Morestal was fairly started: "Yes, yes, theories! I insist upon the word: theories! As a district-councillor, as Mayor of Saint-Elophe, I have the right to be present at his lessons. Oh, you have no idea of his way of teaching the history of France!... In my time, the heroes were the Chevalier d'Assas, Bayard, La Tour d'Auvergne, all those beggars who shed lustre on our country. Nowadays, it's Mossieu Etienne Marcel, Mossieu Dolet.... Oh, a nice set of theories, theirs!" He barred the way to his wife, as she entered the room again, and roared in her face: "Do you know why Napoleon lost the battle of Waterloo?" "I can't find that large breakfast-cup anywhere," said Mme. Morestal, engrossed in her occupation. "Well, just ask your school-master; he'll give you the latest up-to-date theories about Napoleon." "I put it down here, on this chest, with my own hand." "But there, they're doing all they can to distort the children's minds." "It spoils my set." "Oh, I swear to you, in the old days, we'd have ducked our school-master in the horse-pond, if he had dared.... But, by Jove, France had a place of her own in the world then! And such a place! ... That was the time of Solferino!... Of Magenta!... We weren't satisfied with chucking down frontier-posts in those days: we crossed the frontiers ... and at the double, believe me...."