"The Emperor has forgotten Dantzig," he repeated, "and those against
whom he had a grudge. But he has also forgotten those who are in
prison. It is not good to be forgotten in prison. Tell the patron
that--to put it in his pipe and smoke it. Some day he may remember
an old soldier. Ah, one thinks of one's self."
And beneath his bushy brows he looked at her with a gleam of
cunning. He went to the door and, turning there, pointed the finger
of scorn at Lisa, stout and tearful. He gave a short laugh of a
low-born contempt, and departed without further parley.
On the doorstep he paused to put on his boots and button his
gaiters, stooping clumsily with a groan beneath his burden of
haversack and kit. Desiree, who had had time to go upstairs to her
bedroom, ran after him as he descended the steps. She had her purse
in her hand, and she thrust it into his, quickly and breathlessly.
"If you take it," she said, "I shall know that we are friends."
He took it ungraciously enough. It was a silken thing with two
small rings to keep the money in place, and he looked at it with a
grimace, weighing it in his hand. It was very light.
"Money," he said. "No, thank you. To get drink with, and be
degraded and sent to prison. Not for me, madame. No, thank you.
One thinks of one's career."
And with a gruff laugh of worldly wisdom he continued his way down
the worn steps, never looking back at her as she stood in the
sunlight watching him, with the purse in her hand.
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