(A young man in the uniform of a Lieutenant of Dragoons is riding on the edge of a wood in a thick fog. The month is the month of November, and the year is the year 1793. The young man has a simple, open face, with rather protuberant blue eyes and sandy hair. His mouth is at a half smile, and he does not seem to mind having lost his way. His name is Boutroux.)

Boutroux. The more I see of warfare the more I am astonished!... It is true I have only seen four months of it.... My father would be very much astonished if he could see me now!... My mother would be more than astonished: she would be positively alarmed! On the other hand (musing) it is a great relief to me, and would be a still greater relief to her, that I cannot hear the sound of firearms.... The more I see of warfare the more and more perplexed I become. (Looking up at the edge of the wood on his left.) Now what is that wood? Before the fog fell I could have sworn we were in an open rolling country with spinneys here and[Pg 221] there, and I could almost have told you very roughly where we were and where the enemy were—more or less—so to speak—and now here is a horrid great wood! And where am I?

    (At this moment a single voice is heard through the fog. The single voice belongs to a man called Metris. He is as yet unseen.)

Metris. Get back a little! When I said follow me I did not mean bunching up like a lot of dirty linesmen. I meant keeping your spaces.... Charles, you are as pig-headed as ever! There are times when one does not answer a superior, but there are other times when one does. (Angrily.) Charles! (There is no reply.) Something has gone very definitely wrong with my troop! That is the worst of fog.

    (As he says this he emerges in a vast and murky way into the vision of Boutroux. The two men stop their horses and look at each other through the mist.)

Boutroux. Have you seen the Thirty-second?

Metris. (Boutroux perceives him to be a tall man quite ten years his senior, very lean, with menacing moustaches, and clothed in a uniform with which he is unfamiliar.) No, sir, I have not seen the Thirty-second. (He salutes with a sword.) I take it you are an officer in the Republican service?

Boutroux (wearily). Oh yes!

Metris (with elaborate courtesy). Then, sir, you[Pg 222] are my prisoner! My name is Georges de Metris, of Heyren in this country, and my father's name will be familiar to you.

Boutroux. Your father's name is not familiar to me, sir. And what is more, my father's name would not be familiar to you. For my poor old dad (God bless him!) is at the present moment in Bayonne, where he is a grocer—in a large way of business, I am glad to say. And talking of prisoners, you are my prisoner! It is as well I should tell you this before we go further. For if there is one thing I detest more than another in this new profession of mine it is the ambiguity thereof. (He salutes with his sword in rather an extravagant fashion and smiles broadly.)

Metris (making his horse trot up quite close to Boutroux and halting stiffly while he lowers his sword). Sir! I should be loath to quarrel with one so young and evidently so new to arms.

Boutroux. And I, sir (lowering his sword as far as ever he can stretch), would be still more loath to quarrel with one so greatly my senior and one evidently too used to this lethal game.

Metris (biting his lips). I detest your principles, sir, but I respect your uniform.

Boutroux. You have the advantage of me, sir. Your uniform seems to me positively grotesque. But your principles I admire enormously.

Metris (stiffly). Sir, I serve the Emperor. You have heard my name.

Boutroux. I have heard your name, and now that[Pg 223] you tell me that you serve the Emperor I am willing to believe that also. So it seems that we are enemies. I thought as much when you first showed out of the fog. It was not your uniform which gave me this opinion.

Metris. Then what is it?

Boutroux. It was your singular habit of commanding men who were not there.

Metris (in a boiling passion, which he restrains). I did not come here, sir, for a contest of words.

Boutroux (genially, putting up his sword). I take it you did not come here with any direct motive. You got here somehow, just as I did, and neither of us knows why.

Metris (in extreme anger). But you will know why very soon, sir! And I hope I shall know why, too! Sir, I call upon you to draw!

Boutroux (seating himself back in the saddle with great ease while his horse munches the wet grass). Now, there you are. I have been a soldier only these few weeks, and I thought I had got hold of all the muddlement there was; "lines" which aren't lines, and "positions strongly held" which anybody can walk round for fun; and communications "cut," when, as a fact, one could go right along them on horseback, and "destructive fire" that hits nobody, and "excellent morale" when one's men are on the point of hitting one on the nose. But if you will allow me, sir, you positively take the prize in the matter! You suggest the duello or some such phantasy. Do[Pg 224] you want us to fight with these cavalry swords from the saddle?

Metris. I do not know if you are trying to gain time, sir. I suggest that you should meet me on foot here and now.

Boutroux. What! and lose my horse?

Metris. Sir, we can tie the two beasts by their bridles, and we can hang their bridles so tied to the branch of one of these trees.
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