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Updated: June 29, 2025
The prince cried out in French: 'Laugh, sir; you shall have it! He had nothing but his impetuosity for an assurance of his promise, and was never able to force me back beyond a foot. I touched him on the arm and the shoulder, and finally pierced his arm above the elbow. I could have done nearly what I liked with him; his skill was that of a common regimental sabreur.
A mere fighter all his life, a cavalry man, a sabreur, he conceived war with the utmost simplicity as in the main a massed lot of personal contests, a sort of gregarious duelling. And here he had on hand a war of his own. He revived. The shadow of peace had passed away from him like the shadow of death.
At one part of the table a discussion was going on but they drank singularly little; it was not their "form" ever to indulge in that way; and the Chief, as dashing a sabreur as ever crossed a saddle, though lenient to looseness in all other matters, and very young for his command, would have been down like steel on "the boys," had any of them taken to the pastime of overmuch drinking in any shape.
The two soldiers rose and stared hard to their left; M. Perret of the Pharmacie Normale came out at a quick call from his wife, and stood, pestle in hand, as she struggled with a maddening knot in the strings of her black apron. Brigit, leaning out still further, laughed aloud. "Victor," she said under her breath. "Oh, look at him! You old sabreur!"
He wore the full dress uniform of a Lieutenant-General of Cavalry; and, with his black hair and moustache and well-cut face, he looked, in every line, the dashing beau sabreur. When he had greeted the King, and spoken to Lady Helen, he turned and, with eyes on Dehra, came toward us. Courtney and I arose and stepped back.
It was in the calmest voice that my companion uttered the remark, and it made me understand that it was no boast when he said there was more courage needed to carry on his unsavoury trade than to play the part of a beau sabreur like Lasalle. He paused a little, and then went on as if speaking to himself. 'Yes, said he, 'I missed my chance.
The dinner talk was curiously restrained. The usual shop chatter prevailed, leavened by snatches of bantering cynicism from those infants of the world who thought that to be a beau sabreur of the air one must juggle verbally with life, death, and Archie shells. Understanding silences were sandwiched between yarns.
His aggressive punctuality, his strict observance of military etiquette, his precise interpretation of orders, seemed to have as little in common with the fierce excitement of battle as the uninteresting occupations of the Presbyterian deacon, who kept a Sunday school for negroes, had with the reckless gaiety of the traditional sabreur.
I know something, perhaps, that Westerling does not know. I have had an experience that he has not had and that few active officers of either army have had I have been under fire." His eyes flashed with the memory of his charge, and visions of the day when Grandfather Fragini was a beau sabreur and Marta Galland's father toasted quick death and speedy promotion seemed to cluster around him.
"Ah, true! you have Gros Jean here; the best 'sabreur' in France! And here you are a horseman, and one of Gros Jean's 'eléves' rotting away life in Nancy! Have you any friends in the service?" "Not one." "Not one! Nor relations, nor connections?" "None. I am Irish by descent. My family are only French by one generation." "Irish? Ah! that's lucky too," said he. "Our colonel is an Irishman.
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