In as few words as I was able, I explained to François the circumstances of the night march, and the manner of my meeting with the Emperor at the ravine, where the artillery train was stopped. But when I came to the incident of the picket, and mentioned how, in rescuing the Emperor, my horse had been killed under me, he could no longer restrain himself, but turned to the rest, who, to the number of fifteen or sixteen, sat around the fire, and burst forth,—
“Mille tonnerres! but the boy is a fool!” And then, before I could interpose a word, blurted out the whole adventure to the company.
There was no use now to attempt any concealment at all; neither was there to feel anger at his conduct. One would have been as absurd as the other; and so I had to endure, as best I could, the various comments that were passed on my behavior, on the prudence of which certainly no second opinion existed.
“You must be right certain of promotion, Captain,” said an old sergeant, with a gray beard and mustache, “or you wouldn't refuse such a chance as that.”
“Diable!” cried François; “don't you see he wouldn't accept of it. He is too proud to wait on the Petit Caporal, though he asked him to do so.”
“He 'd have given you the cross of the Legion anyhow,” said another.
“Ay, by Jove!” exclaimed the riding-master of a dragoon regiment, “and sent him a remount from his own stud.”
“And you think that modesty!” said Francois, whose indignation at my folly knew no bounds. “Par Saint Joseph! if I'd been as modest, it's not maître d'armes of a voltigeur battalion I 'd be to-day; though I may say, without boasting, I'm not afraid to cross a rapier with any man in the army. No, no; that's not the way I managed.”
“How was that, Maître Francois?” said a young officer, who felt curious to learn the circumstance to which he seemed to attach a story.
“If the honorable society cares to hear it,” said François, uncovering, and bowing courteously to all around, “I shall have great pleasure in recounting a little incident of my life.”