While some of the men in the crowd were more or less incredulously repeating that statement, a black-bearded individual—whom I can, at this very moment, still picture with my mind's eye, so vividly did the affair impress me—climbed on to the parapet near us, and called out, "You say you are English? Do you know London? Do you know Regent Street? Do you know the Soho?"
"Yes, yes!" we answered quickly.
"You know the Lei-ces-terre Square? What name is the music-hall there?"
"Why, the Alhambra!" The "Empire," let me add, did not exist in those days.
The man seemed satisfied. "I think they are English," he said to his friends. But somebody else exclaimed, "I don't believe it. One of them is wearing a German hat."
Now, it happened that my father had returned from London wearing a felt hat of a shape which was then somewhat fashionable there, and which, curiously enough, was called the "Crown Prince," after the heir to the Prussian throne—that is, our Princess Royal's husband, subsequently the Emperor Frederick. The National Guard, who spoke a little English, wished to inspect this incriminating hat, so my father took it off, and one of the Gendarmes, having placed it on his bayonet, passed it to the man on the parapet. When the latter had read "Christy, London," on the lining, he once more testified in our favour.
But other fellows also wished to examine the suspicious headgear, and it passed from hand to hand before it was returned to my father in a more or less damaged condition, Even then a good many men were not satisfied respecting our nationality, but during that incident of the hat—a laughable one to me nowadays, though everything looked very ugly when it occurred—there had been time for the men's angry passions to cool, to a considerable extent at all events; and after that serio-comical interlude, they were much less eager to inflict on us the summary law of Lynch. A further parley ensued, and eventually the Gendarmes, who still stood with bayonets crossed in front of us, were authorized, by decision of the Sovereign People, to take us to the Provost's. Thither we went, then, amidst a perfect procession of watchful guards and civilians.
Directly we appeared before the Provost, I realized that our troubles were not yet over. Some changes had taken place during the retreat, and either the officer whom I remembered having seen at Le Mans (that is, Colonel Mora) had been replaced by another, or else the one before whom we now appeared was not the Provost-General, but only the Provost of the 18th Corps. At all events, he was a complete stranger to me. After hearing, first, the statements of the brigadier and the National Guard who had denounced us, and who had kept close to us all the time, and, secondly, the explanations supplied by my father and myself, he said to me, "If you had a staff permit to follow the army, somebody at headquarters must be able to identify you."
"I think that might be done," I answered, "by Major-General Feilding, who—as you must know—accompanies the army on behalf of the British Government. Personally, I am known to several officers of the 21st Corps— General Gougeard and his Chief of Staff, for instance—and also to some of the aides-de-camp at headquarters."
"Well, get yourselves identified, and obtain a proper safe-conduct," said the Provost. "Brigadier, you are to take these men to headquarters. If they are identified there, you will let them go. If not, take them to the château (the prison), and report to me."