'Burned it, M.de Marsac,' he answered briefly.
I saw that he had burned much, metaphorically speaking, besides his soutane.

He was less pale, less lank, less wobegone than formerly, and went more briskly.

He had lost the air of crack-brained disorder which had distinguished him, and was smart, sedate, and stooped less.

Only the odd sparkle remained in his eyes, and bore witness to the same nervous, eager spirit within.
'What are you going to do, then, Simon ?' I asked, noting these changes curiously.
'I am a soldier,' he answered, 'and follow M.de Marsac.' I laughed.

'You have chosen a poor service, I am afraid,' I said, beginning to rise; 'and one, too, Simon, in which it is possible you may be killed.