"Here I get bitter, restless, impatient; here the past is always touching me on the shoulder; here I shall soon grow to regret, and to chafe, and to look back like any pining woman.

Out yonder there, with no cares to think of but my horse and my troop, I am a soldier--and nothing else; so best.

I shall be nothing else as long as I live.

Pardieu, though! I don't know what one wants better; it is a good life, as life goes.

One must not turn compliments to great ladies, that is all--not much of a deprivation there.