"We have plenty of both in the service of the great Emperor. I am now major in the battalion of _the_ Guard." "Allow me to congratulate you. And—and—what was the lady’s name? Diane de Montmichel?" "_C’est le diable!_" muttered he, while his cheek grew pale as death; but the emotion instantly passed away, and a bold and careless look replaced it. "D’Estouville, you did not find her faithless, I hope?" "I found her only _Madame la Colonelle_, as we say in our service." "The wife of your colonel! How much I regret to hear it. The devil! I think women are all alike perfidious." "Perfidious indeed, Monsieur Stuart, as many a husband and lover, on his return from captivity, finds to his cost. But I mean to revenge myself on the whole sex, and care no more for the best of them, than for the meanest _fille de joie_ that ever was horsed through a camp on the wooden steed. On my return to France, I hastened to the valley of Lillebonne, but it was no longer a paradise to me. My sisters were all married to knaves who cared nothing for me, and a grassy grave in the church-yard was all that remained to me of my dear mother. But _miséricorde! la belle Diane_ was no longer there,—she had become the wife of my colonel, the Baron de Clappourknuis, forgetting poor Victor D’Estouville, her first love, (that which romancers make such a fuss about); he who had preferred her before all the maidens of the valley of Lillebonne,—and there they are numerous and as beautiful as the roses." "Learn to forget her, D’Estouville; you may find it—" "She is forgotten as my love. _Croix Dieu!_ nay, more; she is forgiven." "And she is now Baroness Clappourknuis?" "_Oui, monsieur_,—such I suppose she would rather be, with the boorish old colonel for her husband, than the wife of Victor D’Estouville, a poor subalterne as I was then." "Certes, you have got rapid promotion. And you are really now a major?" said Ronald, feeling a little chagrin. "I am still only an ensign, sub-lieutenant, I believe you style it." "_Diable!_ your promotion is long of coming, especially in these times, when heads are broken like egg-shells. But I would rather have my peace of mind, than promotion to the baton of a marshal of the empire." "Then you have not forgotten her, although you so often protest you have?’ "I have forgotten to love her, at least. _Peste_! I am quite cured of that passion. I can regard her, and speak of her with the utmost nonchalance; and as a proof, I volunteered to bring this letter from the Duke of Dalmatia to your general, relative to procuring the release of the Baron my _chef_, by exchanging him for some British prisoners captured at Villa Garcia, where, by some misadventure, our rear-guard was so severely cut up by your heavy cavalry under Sir Stapleton Cotton. You see, Monsieur Stuart, I am so calmed down in this matter, that I can, even without a pang, negotiate for the restoration of her husband to her arms."