Whilst Delanoue and I slept the sleep of the just; whilst the men in the second line had not half appeased their appetites and were taking in their belts; whilst the men of the third line, who hadn't eaten anything at all, were roaring like a herd of lions in the desert; whilst the drivers were snoring inside their carriages, and the horses were eating their hay and oats; whilst the camp-fires were going out and throwing their uncertain light over an area of three leagues of trampled-down harvest-fields, over sleeping men and wandering phantoms, let us describe what was going on at headquarters.
The advance-guards had hardly established themselves on the road between Cognières and Rambouillet before they brought to the post-hostelry, on the left of the road, a general who had forcibly tried to break through the line of sentinels. He still wore the white cockade: it was old General Boyer, whom we all knew, he who afterwards had a command in Africa, and who won for himself out there, whether justly or not, the nickname of Boyer the Cruel. General Pajol had not yet arrived. Inside the inn parlour were seated, eating, at a round table, M. de Schonen, M. Odilon Barrot and M. le Maréchal Maison; they were on their road to Rambouillet for the second time. Charras was in command, in the absence of General Pajol. They brought General Boyer to him, who frankly gave his name and admitted that he had come to offer his sword in the service of Charles X. This was, indeed, an embarrassing prisoner for Charras to deal with. The young aide-de-camp went into the room where the three commissioners were dining and, addressing Marshal Maison, he said—
"Monsieur le Maréchal, they have just arrested General Boyer."
"Well," asked the marshal, "what do you want me to do in the matter?"
"Will you make him give his parole? I will set him free."
"No, good gracious! no," exclaimed the marshal. "Keep an eye on him, and, when Pajol comes, he can do what he likes with him."
They brought General Boyer into a room adjoining the one in which the commissioners were dining.
Charras had not eaten anything since the morning he had breakfasted with General Pajol, and the commissioners could easily detect that their dinner was attracting his attention. They therefore offered him a share, which he accepted. Marshal Maison never drank any wine but champagne; he poured out three or four glasses successively (they drank out of a sort of tumbler) for General Pajol's aide-de-camp, who, upon an empty stomach, with nerves excited by his campaign to la Fère and forehead burning from six days' consecutive sun, found himself overcome by quite a fresh kind of excitement. So, accordingly, when General Pajol rejoined them, finding that the bread had not yet arrived, and asking for a volunteer to go to Versailles, Charras, who, reckoning for ins and outs, had already done some twenty leagues during the day,—Charras, I say, seeing that nobody offered, himself volunteered.
"But," said Pajol, "are you made of iron?"
"Iron or no," said Charras, "you can see very well that if I do not go, no one else means to go."