Some months after, her new husband was transferred as non-commissioned officer to a regiment of the Young Guard, so she left us to follow him; she had been with us for four years.
In Russia she met with the fate of all the cantinières in the army: she lost horses, carts, money, furs, and also her protector. As for herself, she had the luck to get back. Four months and a half later, at the Battle of Lutzen, May 2nd, 1813, chance brought us together; she had just been wounded in the right hand, while giving drink to a sick man.
I learned afterwards that she returned to France, and reappeared in the Hundred Days. She was taken prisoner at the Battle of Waterloo, but, being a Belgian subject, she was released.[64]
I asked Marie where her husband was.
'Why, you know very well,' she answered, 'that he was killed at Krasnoë.' (I had not heard this before.) 'He was a good fellow; I miss him very much.'
Then she frowned and bent her head. A moment afterwards she raised it again, and, my eyes being still fixed upon her, she looked at me smiling, but it was a sad smile. I asked her what she was thinking about.
'About eating, as you can guess. I used to have a friend who got me food; now I eat whenever I have anything given me, or when I find something, and that doesn't happen often. There is only drink to be had.'
And as she spoke she took a pinch of snow, and carried it to her mouth. I saw her rise with great difficulty to set off on the march; she gave me her hand, and said 'Farewell.' I noticed that she was worn out with fatigue and privation; that she walked with difficulty, leaning on a stick. Mother Gâteau followed her, sheepskin on head, swearing and mumbling between her teeth. I concluded that it was still about the old Chasseur.
Just then there might have been about forty of us, and our number was continually increasing. I caught sight of Humblot, one of our sergeants. Seeing me, he asked what I was doing there. I answered that I was resting, and considering whether I should not do well to pass the night where I was, and start the first thing in the morning.
Humblot, a good fellow who liked me, observed, first, that the weather was bearable; then what advantage it would be to me to have crossed the forest: for, he said, on the other side we should find houses where we could spend the night. The next day early we could reach Wilbalen, a small town, from three to four leagues distant. There we should find our comrades, and be able to buy the necessaries of life. In fact, he said so much that I took up musket and knapsack and set off with Sergeant Humblot. While walking, Humblot told me that, although we were in Pomeranian Prussia, it was not wise to walk alone or lag behind, for several thousand Cossacks had crossed the Niemen on the ice.