“Not but, after all, mon lieutenant, the best way is always to 'face front' against bad luck, and charge through; sapermint, that's the way we did at Marengo, when Desaix's corps was cut off from the left—But pardon, mon officier, I forgot you were not there.”
There was something so pleasant in the gruff courtesy of the hardy cuirassier, that I willingly led him on to speak of his former life,—a subject which, once entered on, he followed as fancy or memory suggested.
“I used to feel low-spirited myself, once,” said Pioche, as he smoothed down his great mustache with a complacent motion of his fingers—“I used to be very low in heart when I entered the service first, and saw all my old school-fellows and companions winning their epaulettes and becoming captains and colonels,—ay, parbleu, and marshals, too,—while, because I could not read, I was to remain all my life in the ranks; as if one could not force a palisade nor break through a square till he had stuffed his head with learning. All this made me very sad, and I would sit brooding over it for hours long. But at last I began to think my own lot was not the worst after all; my duty was easily done, and, when over, I could sleep sound till the reveil blew. I ran no danger of being scolded by the Petit Caporal, because my division was not somewhere yesterday, nor in some other place to-day. He never came with a frown to ask me why I had not captured another howitzer and taken more prisoners. No, faith! It was always,—'Well done, Pioche! bravely done, mon enfant! here's a piece of twenty francs to drink my health.' Or perhaps he'd mutter between his teeth, 'That honest fellow there would make a better general than one half of them.' Not that he was in earnest, you know; but still it was pleasant just to hear it.”
“And yet, Pioche,” said I, “it does surprise me why, seeing that this want of learning was the bar to your promotion, you did not—”
“And so I did, mon lieutenant; at least I tried to learn to read. Morbleu! it was a weary time for me. I'd rather be under arrest three days a week, than be at it again. Mademoiselle Minette—she was the vivandiére of ours—undertook to teach me; and I used to go over to the canteen every evening after drill. Many a sad heart had I over these same lessons. Saprelotte, I could learn the look of every man in a brigade before I could know the letters in the alphabet, they looked so confoundedly alike when they stood up all in a line. The only fellows I could distinguish were the big ones, that were probably the sergeants and sous-officiers; and when my eye was fixed on one column, it would stray away to another; and then mademoiselle would laugh, and that would lead to something else. Et, ma foi, the spelling-book was soon thrown aside, and lessons given up for that evening.”
“I suppose Mademoiselle Minette was pretty, Pioche?”
“Was I ay, and is, too. What! mon lieutenant, did you never see her on parade? She's the handsomest girl in the army, and rides so well,—mille cannons! She might have been a great lady before this if she 'd have left the regiment; but no, she'd die first! Her father was tambour-major with us, and killed at Groningen when she was only an infant; and we used to carry her about in our arms on the march, and hand her from one to another. I have seen her pass from the leading files to the baggage-guard, on a long summer's day; that I have. Le Petit Caporal knows her well; she gave him a gourd full of eau-de-vie at Cairo when he was so faint he could scarcely speak. It was after that he saw her in the breach at Acre; one of our fellows was lying wounded in the ruins, and mademoiselle waited till the storming party fell back, and then ran up to him with her flask in her hand. 'Whose pretty ankles are these? I think I ought to know them,' said an officer, as she passed along. 'No flattery will do with me, Monsieur,' cried Minette; 'it's hard enough to get one's living here, without giving Nantz brandy for nothing.' Saerigtif when the laugh made her turn about, she saw it was the Petit Caporal himself who spoke to her. Poor Minette! she blushed scarlet, and nearly dropped with shame; but that did not prevent her dashing up the breach towards the wounded man; not that it was of any use, though,—he was dead when she got up.”
“I should like much to see mademoiselle. Is she still with the Fourth?”
“Yes, mon lieutenant; I parted with her a few hours ago.”
A half suppressed sigh that followed these words showed that the worthy corporal was touched on the most tender key of his nature, and for some time he lapsed into a silence I could not venture to break. At length, desiring to give the conversation a turn, I asked if he knew the Capitaine Pichot.