“'Well, what shall I do for you besides? Any more commissaries to row, eh? Methinks no bad time to gratify you in that way.'
“'Ah, mon général if you would only hang up one now and then.'
“'So I intend, the next time I hear of any of my soldiers being obliged to eat the asses of the vivandiéres.' And with that he rode on, laughing, though none, save myself, knew what he alluded to; and, ma foi, I was not disposed to turn the laugh against myself by telling. But there goes the réveil, and I must leave you, mon lieutenant; the gates will be open in a few minutes.”
“Good-by, Pioche,” said I, “and many thanks for your pleasant company. I hope we shall meet again, and soon.”
“I hope so, mon lieutenant; and if it be at a bivouac fire, all the better.”
The gallant corporal made his military salute, wheeled about, stiff as if on parade, and departed; while I, throwing my cloak over my arm, turned into the broad alley and left the garden.
CHAPTER XLI. A STORY OF THE YEAR '92.
I FOUND everything in the rue de rohan as I had left it the day before. General d'Auvergne had not been there during my absence, but a messenger from Versailles brought intelligence that the Court would arrive that evening in Paris, and in all likelihood the general would accompany them.
My day was then at my disposal, and having dressed, I strolled out to enjoy all the strange and novel sights of the great capital. They who can carry their memories back to Paris at that period may remember the prodigious amount of luxury and wealth so prodigally exhibited; the equipages, the liveries, the taste in dress, were all of the most costly character; the very shops, too, vied with each other in the splendor and richness of their display, and court uniforms and ornaments of jewelry glittered in every window. Hussar jackets in all their bravery, chapeaux covered with feather trimming and looped with diamonds, sabres with ivory scabbards encrusted with topaz and turquoise, replaced the simple costumes of the Revolutionary era as rapidly as did the high-sounding titles of “Excellence” and “Monseigneur” the unpretending designation of “citoyen.” Still, the military feature of the land was in the ascendant; in the phrase of the day, it was the “mustache” that governed. Not a street but had its group of officers, on horseback or on foot; regiments passed on duty, or arrived from the march, at every turn of the way. The very rabble kept time and step as they followed, and the warlike spirit animated every class of the population. All these things ministered to my enthusiasm, and set my heart beating stronger for the time when the career of arms was to open before me. This, if I were to judge from all I saw, could not now be far distant. The country for miles around Paris was covered with marching men, their faces all turned eastward; orderlies, booted and splashed, trotted rapidly from street to street; and general officers, with their aides-de-camp, rode up and down with a haste that boded preparation.