I caught sight of Grangier waiting impatiently for me on a little bridge. We took the shortest road along the quay to the place of muster. We had not been walking five minutes, when we saw Picart in the middle of the street, swearing in a rage, holding a Prussian down with his foot, and in front of him four Prussian soldiers commanded by a corporal under the orders of a police superintendent. The reason was this: several people had thrown snowballs at Picart in front of a café. He stopped, threatening to enter the house and have them arrested, but they took no notice; one of them, coming down into the street and advancing behind Picart, rested a billiard-cue on his shoulder, and began to cry: 'Hourra! Cossack!' Picart, turning rapidly, gripped hold of him and flung him flat on his face in the snow. Then, placing his right foot on his back, he fixed his bayonet, and, turning in the direction of the café, defied all those within.
The guard was fetched; Picart had in the meantime made his man understand that if he made the least movement he would be bayoneted. He said the same to those who were in the café; no one stirred, and then the guard came up with the superintendent of police.
The guard did not frighten Picart. He was just then like a lion holding his prey in his claws, and looking proudly at his hunters. He did not see us; the superintendent was trembling with fear. The women said, 'He is right; he was going quietly on his way, and they insulted him.'
Finally a Protestant minister, who had seen everything, and who spoke French, came forward and explained to the superintendent how the whole thing had happened. On this they told Picart that he might let the man go, that justice would be dealt him. Picart said, 'Get up!' He did not require to be told a second time.
When he had risen, Picart gave him a sound kick behind, saying, 'This is justice on my own account.' The man made off amid the hootings of all the women present, holding his hand to the place where he had been kicked.
Meanwhile the superintendent was exacting a fine of twenty-five francs from all those persons who had insulted Picart, as well as from the one who had had the kick. He pocketed half of it 'for the King,' he said, 'and to defray the expenses of justice.' The other half he presented to Picart, who at first refused, but on second thoughts offered half of it to the policemen, the other half to the Protestant minister, saying, 'If you should ever meet the wife of an old soldier, give her that from me.' We had to explain to them what Picart meant, for they could not understand so much disinterestedness on the part of a soldier. They would have liked to say flattering things to him; even the superintendent of police began jabbering compliments. We pursued our way in the direction of the palace, Grangier making remarks upon the Prussian character, Picart singing his refrain:
'Ah! tu t'en souviendras, la-ri-ra,
Du départ de Boulogne!'
We reached the square, and we saw a regiment of negroes opposite the palace where Murat was staying. It was really comical to see the contrast of their faces against the snow-covered square. The officers commanding them were black also. I could not find out what route this corps took in the retreat, but I think they crossed the Vistula at Marienwerder.
The artillery had almost ceased firing; the Russians had been driven from the neighbourhood of the town by a body of fresh troops, who had not been on the Russian campaign. A little grape-shot scattered among their cavalry had been quite enough for them.
We were stopped by the service waggons of the different corps leaving the town. We were now near Picart's quarters, so he exclaimed, 'Halt, friends! I must say adieu to my landlady, and get my white cloak and the pipe and cap belonging to the deceased uncle, and there are still some bottles of wine under my straw bolster that we must empty.'