'Yes, sergeant, a little biscuit.'
And he opened his knapsack and drew out a piece of biscuit the size of his hand, which I devoured at once. I had not tasted bread since October 27.[34] As I ate I said:
'Picart, have you any brandy?'
'No, mon pays!'
'I thought I smelt something like it.'
'You are right,' he said. 'Yesterday, when the waggon was pillaged, there was a bottle of brandy; but they quarrelled over it, and it was broken and the brandy spilt.'
I said I should like to see the place where it happened, and when he showed me I gathered up some snow à l'eau de vie, just as before I had collected horse's blood à la glace.
'That's good,' said Picart. 'I never thought of doing that. I think we can manage to get drunk, as there were several bottles in the waggon.'
The biscuit and brandied snow had done me a great deal of good, so I related to Picart all that had happened to me since the evening before. He could scarcely believe me; but when I told him of the misery the entire army was suffering, including his regiment and all the Imperial Guard, he was distressed beyond words. The readers of this diary will be surprised that Picart knew nothing of what had been going on. I will tell them the reason of this.