How trivial I thought her! and how trivial her sex! A man
might be an angel or an Apollo, and a mustard-coloured coat would
wholly blind them to his merits. I was a prisoner, a slave, a
contemned and despicable being, the butt of her sniggering
countrymen. I would take the lesson: no proud daughter of my foes
should have the chance to mock at me again; none in the future
should have the chance to think I had looked at her with
admiration. You cannot imagine any one of a more resolute and
independent spirit, or whose bosom was more wholly mailed with
patriotic arrogance, than I. Before I dropped asleep, I had
remembered all the infamies of Britain, and debited them in an
overwhelming column to Flora.
The next day, as I sat in my place, I became conscious there was
some one standing near; and behold, it was herself! I kept my
seat, at first in the confusion of my mind, later on from policy;
and she stood, and leaned a little over me, as in pity. She was
very still and timid; her voice was low. Did I suffer in my
captivity? she asked me. Had I to complain of any hardship?
'Mademoiselle, I have not learned to complain,' said I. 'I am a
soldier of Napoleon.'
She sighed. 'At least you must regret La France,' said she, and
coloured a little as she pronounced the words, which she did with a
pretty strangeness of accent.
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