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"What is it he wishes?" said I. "The poor fellow is asking for something." "Yes, mon lieutenant. It is the sabre d'honneur the Emperor gave him this morning. He likes to look at it every now and then; he says he doesn't mind the pain when he sees that before him. And it is natural, too." "Such is glory!" said I to myself; "and he who feels this in his heart has no room for other thoughts."
Something else was glimmering there, too; dozens of dancing points of white fire sunshine on buckle, button, bit and sabre. And the officer beside her uttered a low, fierce cry and jerked his field glasses free from the case. "Their cavalry!" he breathed. "The Yankees are entering the pass, so help me God!" And he drew his revolver. So help him God!
I tell you, if you were a real painter instead of a base flatterer of bloated and wealthy sitters, and if you'd seen him then, you'd have painted the masterpiece of your age and called it The Visionary. I tell you, old Sabre was fine.
"The soldier galloped his horse, and yelled, and Pa put in his best licks, and run up the track to where there was a board off the fence, and tried to get through, but he got stuck, and the soldier put the point of his sabre on Pa's pants and pushed, and Pa got through the fence and I guess he ran all the way home.
Passing through a country full of small shallow lakes, of all of which M'Kinlay has faithfully preserved the terrible native names, such as Lake Moolion dhurunnie, etc., they came to a watercourse, whereon they found a grave and picked up a battered pint pot. Next morning they opened the grave, and in it was the body of a European, the skull being marked, so M'Kinlay says, with two sabre cuts.
'If I were to pass my sabre through you as you sit in that chair, I should do what is just and right. I dishonour my blade by crossing it with yours. And yet you are a Frenchman, and have even held a commission under the same flag as myself. Rise, then, and defend yourself! 'Tut, tut! cried the Baron. 'It is all very well for you young bloods Duroc's patience could stand no more.
A waistcoat of gorgeous crimson, thickly covered with gold lace, displayed flowing sleeves of white linen, buttoned at the wrist. Long, loose, baggy, linen trousers, also fastened above the ankle, and curiously pointed shoes clothed his nether limbs. This striking costume was completed by a small skull-cap, richly embroidered, and an ornamental sabre.
This kind of duel, by which I gained honour, would anywhere else have brought me to the highest disgrace. A man who knew the use of the sabre, in a single day, might certainly have disabled a hundred Herman Rogaars. This story may instruct and warn others. He that is quarrelsome shall never want an enemy.
This accident so vexed him, that instead of beheading the two princes, he threw away his sabre, and ran after his horse. The horse galloped on before him, and led him several miles into a wood. Jehaun-dar followed him, and the horse's neighing roused a lion that was asleep.
The former leader had doubtless aged terribly he must be a man of fifty-five or fifty-six, to-day; but Varhely was sure that Joseph Ladany, now become minister, had preserved his generous, ardent nature of other days. As he crossed the antechambers and lofty halls which led to the minister's office, Varhely still saw, in his mind's eye, Ladany, sabre in hand, astride of the smoking cannon.
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