(A young man in the uniform of a Lieutenant of Dragoons is riding on the edge of a wood in a thick fog. The month is the month of November, and the year is the year 1793. The young man has a simple, open face, with rather protuberant blue eyes and sandy hair. His mouth is at a half smile, and he does not seem to mind having lost his way. His name is Boutroux.)

Boutroux. The more I see of warfare the more I am astonished!... It is true I have only seen four months of it.... My father would be very much astonished if he could see me now!... My mother would be more than astonished: she would be positively alarmed! On the other hand (musing) it is a great relief to me, and would be a still greater relief to her, that I cannot hear the sound of firearms.... The more I see of warfare the more and more perplexed I become. (Looking up at the edge of the wood on his left.) Now what is that wood? Before the fog fell I could have sworn we were in an open rolling country with spinneys here and there, and I could almost have told you very roughly where we were and where the enemy were—more or less—so to speak—and now here is a horrid great wood! And where am I?

(At this moment a single voice is heard through the fog. The single voice belongs to a man called Metris. He is as yet unseen.)

Metris. Get back a little! When I said follow me I did not mean bunching up like a lot of dirty linesmen. I meant keeping your spaces.... Charles, you are as pig-headed as ever! There are times when one does not answer a superior, but there are other times when one does. (Angrily.) Charles! (There is no reply.) Something has gone very definitely wrong with my troop! That is the worst of fog.

(As he says this he emerges in a vast and murky way into the vision of Boutroux. The two men stop their horses and look at each other through the mist.)

Boutroux. Have you seen the Thirty-second?

Metris. (Boutroux perceives him to be a tall man quite ten years his senior, very lean, with menacing moustaches, and clothed in a uniform with which he is unfamiliar.) No, sir, I have not seen the Thirty-second. (He salutes with a sword.) I take it you are an officer in the Republican service?

Boutroux (wearily). Oh yes!

Metris (with elaborate courtesy). Then, sir, you are my prisoner! My name is Georges de Metris, of Heyren in this country, and my father's name will be familiar to you.

Boutroux. Your father's name is not familiar to me, sir. And what is more, my father's name would not be familiar to you. For my poor old dad (God bless him!) is at the present moment in Bayonne, where he is a grocer—in a large way of business, I am glad to say. And talking of prisoners, you are my prisoner! It is as well I should tell you this before we go further. For if there is one thing I detest more than another in this new profession of mine it is the ambiguity thereof. (He salutes with his sword in rather an extravagant fashion and smiles broadly.)

Metris (making his horse trot up quite close to Boutroux and halting stiffly while he lowers his sword). Sir! I should be loath to quarrel with one so young and evidently so new to arms.

Boutroux. And I, sir (lowering his sword as far as ever he can stretch), would be still more loath to quarrel with one so greatly my senior and one evidently too used to this lethal game.

Metris (biting his lips). I detest your principles, sir, but I respect your uniform.

Boutroux. You have the advantage of me, sir. Your uniform seems to me positively grotesque. But your principles I admire enormously.

Metris (stiffly). Sir, I serve the Emperor. You have heard my name.

Boutroux. I have heard your name, and now that you tell me that you serve the Emperor I am willing to believe that also. So it seems that we are enemies. I thought as much when you first showed out of the fog. It was not your uniform which gave me this opinion.

Metris. Then what is it?

Boutroux. It was your singular habit of commanding men who were not there.

Metris (in a boiling passion, which he restrains). I did not come here, sir, for a contest of words.

Boutroux (genially, putting up his sword). I take it you did not come here with any direct motive. You got here somehow, just as I did, and neither of us knows why.

Metris (in extreme anger). But you will know why very soon, sir! And I hope I shall know why, too! Sir, I call upon you to draw!

Boutroux (seating himself back in the saddle with great ease while his horse munches the wet grass). Now, there you are. I have been a soldier only these few weeks, and I thought I had got hold of all the muddlement there was; "lines" which aren't lines, and "positions strongly held" which anybody can walk round for fun; and communications "cut," when, as a fact, one could go right along them on horseback, and "destructive fire" that hits nobody, and "excellent morale" when one's men are on the point of hitting one on the nose. But if you will allow me, sir, you positively take the prize in the matter! You suggest the duello or some such phantasy. Do you want us to fight with these cavalry swords from the saddle?

Metris. I do not know if you are trying to gain time, sir. I suggest that you should meet me on foot here and now.

Boutroux. What! and lose my horse?

Metris. Sir, we can tie the two beasts by their bridles, and we can hang their bridles so tied to the branch of one of these trees.

Boutroux (frowning). I have a very short experience of warfare—I think I have said that before—and I hesitate to correct a man of your experience. But if you can really tie two bridles together and then have enough leather left to get it over the branch of a tree, you'll teach me something about the art of campaigning of which I was quite innocent.... (Getting down from his horse.) Come, I think in the French service we have a better way than that. (He unbuckles one end of the snaffle-rein.) You see (looking up genially), we leave the curb on. If I had time I would explain to you why.... Now, sir, will you not unbuckle the end of your snaffle-rein?

Metris (stiffly). No, sir, I will not.

Boutroux (sighing). They are all the same! The service simply fossilises them, especially, it would seem, the enemy; though I confess (turning courteously to Metris and bowing to him) you are the first of the enemy I have ever met.

Metris (restraining himself). Pray, sir, do not delay.

Boutroux (full of good humour). I will not! See, I pass my snaffle-rein in through the buckle of your horse's curb; and pardon me, sir, but what a fine horse! Is it yours or the Emperor's?

Metris (ominously). It is mine, sir.

Boutroux. Keep it. This (jerking his thumb at his weedy mount) belongs to the Republic—if it is still a Republic, for news travels slowly to the armies. At any rate, it doesn't belong to me. (He slowly takes the end of his snaffle-rein and looks for something to fasten it to; he shakes his head doubtfully. At last, holding the end of the snaffle-rein in his left hand while the two horses begin to browse peacefully, he draws his sword with his right, and putting himself in a theatrical posture, says): Come on, sir, I'm damned if I will let go of these horses.

Metris (solemnly). I do not jest upon these occasions.

Boutroux. Neither do I, sir. Indeed, I have not been in such an occasion before; and I make it a rule never to jest when I do anything for the first time. Come, draw, and put yourself in a posture of defence, or, by Heaven (so far as these two animals will allow me) I will make a mincemeat of you with my sword.

Metris (boiling over). This is far more than any gentleman can endure! (He stands before Boutroux with his left hand clenched behind his back, his right foot well advanced, and his sabre in tierce.) Now, sir.

Boutroux (very simply). Now! (Nothing happens.)

Metris. Sir, are you upon your guard?

Boutroux. More or less (jerking the horses). Garrup! (To Metris) Excuse me, sir, it seems that even in browsing grass this horse of mine has a devil of a hard mouth. He nearly sprained my wrist.... Well, then, are you upon your guard?

Metris (courteously). I am.

Boutroux (as in surprise). Oh, you are! (He gives a tremendous cut at the point of the neck, which his opponent skilfully parries and replies to by a thrust.) Never ... (rapidly parrying a sharp succession of thrusts that follow from his opponent) never ... thrust ... with a light cavalry sword.... I don't know much about (Ah, you missed that!)—much about ... this business. But—— (He suddenly gets round inside Metris' guard, but has the misfortune to cut with a spent blow into nothing better than cloth. They disengage.)

Metris. Sir, you play well enough for a man who is uninstructed, but I warn you you are depending upon luck.

Boutroux. I know that. Luckily for me my mind is divided, and I can form no plan. For these animals at the end of the snaffle-rein have nearly pulled my arm off. However, let us have a second bout. The great thing for men like me is not to plan too much. (Voices are heard through the fog.) Sir, let me warn you like a gentleman, though my father is but a grocer, and yours for all I know a Rouge Dragon, that I hear the voice of one who is most indubitably my Colonel. And talking of his profession, he was, at the outbreak of this regrettable campaign, a butcher in Toulouse. He is a very brutal man, but I will not detain you, for your time is short.

Metris. This is more than I will stand. (They engage, and Metris, whose blood is now up and who means business, gets Boutroux with a slash on the cheek at the third pass.)

The Colonel (now apparent through the thick fog, with a group of misty figures behind him). Do I interrupt you, gentlemen?

Boutroux (with great respect). My Colonel, I had the misfortune to be separated from my troop during the fog, but I have taken this man (pointing at the Austrian with his sword) prisoner, but only after a sharp passage of arms, during which, my Colonel, I have been wounded. (He points to the scratch on his cheek.)

Colonel (coldly). Lieutenant Boutroux, you shall have forty days. (He turns to a soldier.) Undo that scrimmage of bridles. (The soldier obeys him. He turns to Metris with great courtesy.) I take it, sir, you are an officer in the forces of the Emperor and that you hold his commission?

Metris. Undoubtedly.

Colonel. Then, sir, you will follow me, for I take it you constitute yourself my prisoner. (Turning to an officer upon his right.) Major Clement, you will see to the enforcement of my sentence upon Lieutenant Boutroux. Pray add upon the record that he jested with a superior officer when discovered, separated from his command, fencing with a member of the enemy's forces. The Brigadier may deal with the complaint as he chooses.

Boutroux. Upon my soul, the longer I follow it, the less I comprehend the career of arms!