three such men called together into one room. You cannot see the lettuce and dressing without suspecting a salad.
"Name of a pipe!" said Tremeau, in his barrack-room fashion. "Are we then expecting three champions of the Bourbons?"
To all of us the idea appeared not improbable. Certainly in the whole army we were the very three who might have been chosen to meet them.
"The Prince of Neufchâtel desires to speak with the Brigadier Gerard," said a footman, appearing at the door.
In I went, leaving my two companions consumed with impatience behind me. It was a small room, but very gorgeously furnished. Berthier was seated opposite to me at a little table, with a pen in his hand and a note-book open before him. He was looking weary and slovenly—very different from that Berthier who used to give the fashion to the army, and who had so often set us poorer officers tearing our hair by trimming his pelisse with fur one campaign, and with grey astrakhan the next. On his clean-shaven, comely face there was an expression of trouble, and he looked at me as I entered his chamber in a way which had in it something furtive and displeasing.
"Chief of Brigade Gerard!" said he.
"At your service, your Highness!" I answered.
