These were tremendous things, but he had himself to think about too, and personality can often outweigh the universe.  Julie was gone, taking a lot of the light with her, but Picard was still there, and while he was grizzled and stern he was a friend.

John sat up quite straight and Picard did not try to keep him from it.

“Picard,” he said, “you see me, don’t you?”

“I do, sir, with these two good eyes of mine, as good as those in the head of any young man, and fifty is behind me.”

“That’s because you’re not intellectual, Picard, but we’ll return to our lamb chops.  I am here, I, a soldier of France, though an American—­for which I am grateful—­laid four days upon my back by a wound.  And was that wound inflicted by a shell, shrapnel, bomb, lance, saber, bullet or any of the other noble weapons of warfare?  No, sir, it was done by a horse, and not by a kick, either, he jostled me with his knee when he wasn’t looking.  Would you call that an honorable wound?”

“All wounds received in the service of one’s country or adopted country are honorable, sir.”

“You give me comfort, Picard.  But spread the story that I was not hit by a horse’s knee but by a piece of shell, a very large and wicked piece of shell.  I want it to get into the histories that way.  The greatest of Frenchmen, though he was an Italian, said that history was a fable agreed upon, and you and I want to make an agreement about myself and a shell.”

“I don’t understand you at all, sir.”

“Well, never mind.  Tell me how long Mademoiselle Julie is going to stay here.  I’m a great friend of her brother, Lieutenant Philip Lannes.  Oh, we’re such wonderful friends!  And we’ve been through such terrible dangers together!”

“Then, perhaps it’s Lieutenant Lannes and not his sister, Mademoiselle Julie, that you wish to inquire about.”

“Don’t be ironical, Picard.  I was merely digressing, which I admit is wrong, as you’re apt to distract the attention of your hearer from the real subject.  We’ll return to Mademoiselle Julie.  Do you think she’s going to remain here long?”

“I would tell you if I could, sir, but no one knows.  I think it depends upon many circumstances.  The young lady is most brave, as becomes one of her blood, and the changes in France are great.  All of us who may not fight can serve otherwise.”

“Why is it that you’re not fighting, Picard?”

The great peasant flung up his arms angrily.

“Because I am beyond the age.  Because I am too old, they said.  Think of it!  I, Antoine Picard, could take two of these little officers and crush them to death at once in my arms!  There is not in all this army a man who could walk farther than I can!  There is not one who could lift the wheel of a cannon out of the mud more quickly than I can, and they would not take me!  What do a few years mean?”

“Nothing in your case, Antoine, but they’ll take you, later on.  Never fear.  Before this war is over every country in it will need all the men it can get, whether old or young.”