A horseman with drawn sabre rode at him and ordered him to move on more quickly.
"But where to, Monsieur le Caporal?"
"Anywhere, mon enfant! Out of this, now! Circulate!"
"But——"
"There is no 'but!' What business have you here? You are not a Deputy!" The man urged him with his sabre.
"Hold, Monsieur le Caporal! Has, then, a citizen of Paris no longer any right to go home without insult from the uniform?"
"Where do you live, monsieur?"
"Just around the corner in the Faubourg St. Honoré," replied the young man.
"Ah!" growled the cavalryman, doubtfully, "and there is another route."
All of this time the soldier's horse, trained by much service of this sort during the preceding year, was pushing Jean along of his own accord,—now with his breast, now with his impatient nose,—to the considerable sacrifice of that young man's dignity. The latter edged up to the wall, but the horse followed him, shoving him along gently but firmly under a loose rein.