It's a poor place," he added, speaking to Chapeau; "but the truth
is, he don't choose to have more comforts about him than what are
enjoyed by the poorest soldier in his army."
"We won't think any the worse of him for that," said Chapeau. "We're
badly enough off ourselves, sometimes--besides, your Captain is a very
old friend of M. Henri."
"An old friend of whose?" said Plume.
"Of M. Henri Larochejaquelin--that gentleman who has now gone upstairs:
they have known each other all their lives."
Auguste Plume became the picture of astonishment. "Known each other all
their lives!" said he; "and what's his name, then?"
"Why, I told you: M. Henri Larochejaquelin."
"No, but the other," and he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder up
the stairs. "My Captain, you know; if he's the friend of your Captain,
I suppose you know what his name is?"
"And do you mean to say, you don't know yourself, your own Captain's
name."
Plume felt the impropriety, in a military point of view, of the fact.
He felt that, as second in command, he ought to have been made
acquainted with his General's name, and that it would have been
difficult to find, in the history of all past wars, a parallel to his
own ignorance.
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