human
the young fellow cried, slapping the sleeping officer on the shoulder, and disturbing his slumbers;
gpt
De Mortemart! cried Boussac, springing from his seat and grasping the newcomer's hand with his own, while with the other he clapped his wig on.
human
De Mortemart--what brings you here? Have you got the route, is the regiment returned to Paris?
gpt
No such chance, _mon ami_, our luck is out. Neither Paris, nor, _ma foi_! a campaign for us--we are stewed up in Rambouillet for another year. And, _peste_! the only woman there worth a pistole has turned out the vilest of creatures. We cannot even sup with her now, or take a glass of ratafia or a cup of chocolate from her hands.
human
That is not well. But what--what--brings you here? Come, tell me, and drawing the wine flask toward him he poured out a drink for his comrade.
gpt
And you look sad, De Mortemart; is it because of the 'vilest of creatures'?