. .
She enjoyed picturing herself on horseback in command of a regiment of
dragoons, charging the enemy with other Amazons as dashing and buxom as
she. Then her fondness for skating would predominate over her tastes for
the cavalry, and she would long to be an Alpine hunter, a diable bleu
among those who slid on long runners, with musket slung across the back
and alpenstock in hand, over the snowy slopes of the Vosges.
But the government did not appreciate the valorous women, and she
could obtain no other part in the war but to admire the uniform of her
true-love, Rene Lacour, converted into a soldier. The senator's son
certainly looked beautiful. He was tall and fair, of a rather feminine
type recalling his dead mother. In his fiancee's opinion, Rene was just
"a little sugar soldier." At first she had been very proud to walk the
streets by the side of this warrior, believing that his uniform had
greatly augmented his personal charm, but little by little a revulsion
of feeling was clouding her joy. The senatorial prince was nothing but
a common soldier. His illustrious father, fearful that the war might cut
off forever the dynasty of the Lacours, indispensable to the welfare of
the State, had had his son mustered into the auxiliary service of the
army. By this arrangement, his heir need not leave Paris, ranking about
as high as those who were kneading the bread or mending the soldiers'
cloaks.
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