She knew she had been ungenerous--a crime dark as night in the sight of the little chivalrous soldier.
"Ah," she said softly and waywardly, winding her way aright with that penetration and tact which, however unsexed in other things, Cigarette had kept thoroughly feminine.

"That was but an idle word of mine; forgive it, and forget it.

You are not a slave when you fight in the fantasias.

Morbleu! They say to see you kill a man is beautiful--so workmanlike! And you would go out and be shot to-morrow, rather than sell your honor, or stain it.

Bah! while you know they should cut your heart out rather than make you tell a lie, or betray a comrade, you are no slave; you have the best freedom of all.