As the young officer was walking his horse by the roadside about a league and a half from Paris, he heard a clatter behind him, and up galloped an aide-de-camp and drew up alongside, bringing his horse nearly on his haunches.
He handed him a large packet sealed with the arms of France. The other tore it open; and there was his brevet as colonel. His cheek flushed and his eye glittered with joy. The aide-de-camp next gave him a parcel: “Your epaulets, colonel! We hear you are going into the wilds where epaulets don’t grow. You are to join the army of the Rhine as soon as your wound is well.”
“Wherever my country calls me.”
“Your address, then, colonel, that we may know where to put our finger on a tried soldier when we want one.”
“I am going to Beaurepaire.”
“Beaurepaire? I never heard of it.”
“You never heard of Beaurepaire? it is in Brittany, forty-five leagues from Paris, forty-three leagues and a half from here.”
“Good! Health and honor to you, colonel.”
“The same to you, lieutenant; or a soldier’s death.”
The new colonel read the precious document across his horse’s mane, and then he was going to put one of the epaulets on his right shoulder, bare at present: but he reflected.