“Not the first night of a campaign, I suppose,” said he, with a voice of rebuke. “Parbleu! that would be a pretty affair! No, no; each man brings what he can find, drinks what he is able, and leaves the rest; which, after all, is a very fair stock-in-trade to begin with. And so now, mon lieutenant, to commence operations regularly, just sling this ham on your sabre over your shoulder, and take this turkey carelessly in your hand,—that 's it. Here we are; follow me.”
Passing through an arched gateway, we entered a little courtyard where several horses were picketed, the ground about them being strewn with straw knee-deep; cavalry saddles, holsters, and sheepskins lay confusedly on every side, along with sabres and carbines; a great lamp, detached from its position over the street entrance, was suspended from a lance out of a window, and threw its light over the scene. Stepping cautiously through this chaotic heap, we reached a glass door, from within which the riotous sounds were most audibly issuing. Pioche pushed it open, and we entered a large room, full fifty feet in length, at one end of which, under a species of canopy, formed by two old regimental colors, sat Mademoiselle Minette,—for so I guessed to be a very pretty brunette, with a most decidedly Parisian look about her air and toilette; a table, covered with a snow-white napkin, was in front of her, on which lay a large bouquet and an open book, in which she appeared to be writing as we came in. The room on either side was filled by small tables, around which sat parties drinking, card-playing, singing or quarrelling as it might be, with a degree of energy and vociferation only campaigning can give an idea of.
The first thing which surprised me was, that all ranks in the service seemed confusedly mixed up together, there being no distinction of class whatever; captains and corporals, sergeants, lieutenants, colonels, and tambourmajors, were inextricably commingled, hobnobbing, handshaking, and even kissing in turn, that most fraternal and familiar “tu” of dearest friendship being heard on every side.
Resisting a hundred invitations to join some party or other as he passed up the room, Pioche led me forward towards Mademoiselle Minette, to present me in due form ere I took my place.
The honest corporal, who would have charged a square without blinking, seemed actually to tremble as he came near the pretty vivandiére; and when, with a roguish twinkle of her dark eye, and a half smile on her saucy lip, she said, “Ah, c'est toi, gros Pioche?” the poor fellow could only mutter a “Oui, Mademoiselle,” in a voice scarce loud enough to be heard.
“And monsieur,” said she, “whom I have the honor to see?”
“Is my lieutenant. Mademoiselle; or he is aide-de-camp of my general, which comes to the same thing.”
With a few words of gracious civility, well and neatly expressed mademoiselle welcomed me to the canteen, which, she said, had often been graced by the presence of General d'Auvergne himself.
“Yes, by Saint Denis!” cried Pioche, with energy; “Prince Murat, and Maréchal Davoust, too, have been here.”
Dropping his voice to a whisper, he added something that called a faint blush to mademoiselle's cheek as she replied, “You think so, do you?” Then, turning to me, asked if I were not disposed to sup.