"
"And where else than to Paris would any one in search of pleasure go?"
asked Bonaparte.
"I had more fun a few miles outside of Brussels," said Wellington, with a
sly wink at Washington.
"Oh, let up on that!" retorted Bonaparte. "It wasn't you beat me at
Waterloo. You couldn't have beaten me at a plain ordinary game of old-maid
with a stacked pack of cards, much less in the game of war, if you hadn't
had the elements with you."
"Tut!" snapped Wellington. "It was clear science laid you out, Boney."
"Taisey-voo!" shouted the irate Corsican. "Clear science be hanged! Wet
science was what did it. If it hadn't been for the rain, my little Duke, I
should have been in London within a week, my grenadiers would have been
camping in your Rue Peekadeely, and the Old Guard all over everywhere
else."
"You must have had a gay army, then," laughed Caesar. "What are French
soldiers made of, that they can't stand the wet--unshrunk linen or
flannel?"
"Bah!" observed Napoleon, shrugging his shoulders and walking a few paces
away. "You do not understand the French. The Frenchman is not a pell-mell
soldier like you Romans; he is the poet of arms; he does not go in for
glory at the expense of his dignity; style, form, is dearer to him than
honor, and he has no use for fighting in the wet and coming out of the
fight conspicuous as a victor with the curl out of his feathers and his
epaulets rusted with the damp.
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