CHAPTER XXIV
A VOLUNTEER
Beaudésir, by the wretched light of two tallow-candles,
looked paler, thinner, more dejected, than even that pale,
thin, anxious recruit who had joined the Grey Musketeers
with so formidable a character as a master of defence some
months before. No wonder. He was an enthusiast at
heart, and an enthusiast can seldom withstand the pressure
of continuous adversity. A temporary gleam of sunshine,
indeed, warms him up to the highest pitch of energy,
daring, and intellectual resource; nay, he will battle
nobly against the fiercest storm so long as the winds blow,
the thunder peals overhead, and less exalted spirits fly
cowering to the nearest shelter; but it is in a bitter,
bleak, protracted frost that he droops and fades away.
Give him excitement, even the excitement of pain, and he
becomes a hero. Put him to mere drudgery, though it be
the honest drudgery of duty, and he almost ceases to be a
man.
There is, nevertheless, something essentially elastic in the French character, which even in such a disposition as Beaudésir's preserved him from giving way to utter despair. Though he might well be excused for repining, when thus compelled to gain his bread by teaching the landlord's children to dance at a low pot-house, yet this young man's natural temperament enabled him to take interest even in so unworthy an occupation, and he was jealous enough of their progress to resent that rude interruption he experienced from the parlour with a flash of the old spirit cherished in the King's Musketeers.
