"
"That's because you're not intellectual, Picard, but we'll return to our
lamb chops. I am here, I, a soldier of France, though an American--for
which I am grateful--laid four days upon my back by a wound. And was
that wound inflicted by a shell, shrapnel, bomb, lance, saber, bullet or
any of the other noble weapons of warfare? No, sir, it was done by a
horse, and not by a kick, either, he jostled me with his knee when he
wasn't looking. Would you call that an honorable wound?"
"All wounds received in the service of one's country or adopted country
are honorable, sir."
"You give me comfort, Picard. But spread the story that I was not hit by
a horse's knee but by a piece of shell, a very large and wicked piece of
shell. I want it to get into the histories that way. The greatest of
Frenchmen, though he was an Italian, said that history was a fable
agreed upon, and you and I want to make an agreement about myself and a
shell."
"I don't understand you at all, sir."
"Well, never mind. Tell me how long Mademoiselle Julie is going to stay
here. I'm a great friend of her brother, Lieutenant Philip Lannes. Oh,
we're such wonderful friends! And we've been through such terrible
dangers together!"
"Then, perhaps it's Lieutenant Lannes and not his sister, Mademoiselle
Julie, that you wish to inquire about."
"Don't be ironical, Picard. I was merely digressing, which I admit is
wrong, as you're apt to distract the attention of your hearer from the
real subject.
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