"How should I know?" replied O'Brien, "I am a stranger in these parts as well as yourself."
"From what part of France do you come?" demanded the other, his teeth chattering with the cold, for he was badly clothed, and with little defence from the inclement weather.
"From Montpelier," replied O'Brien.
"And I from Toulouse. A sad change, comrade, from olives and vines to such a climate as this. Curse the conscription: I intended to have taken a little wife next year."
O'Brien gave me a push, as if to say, "Here's something that will do," and then continued,—
"And curse the conscription I say too, for I had just married, and now my wife is left to be annoyed by the attention of the fermier général. But it can't be helped. C'est pour la France et pour la gloire."
"We shall be too late to get a billet," replied the other, "and not a sou have I in my pocket. I doubt if I get up with the main body till they are at Flushing. By our route, they are at Axel to-day."
"If we arrive at St Nicholas, we shall do well," replied O'Brien; "but I have a little money left, and I'll not see a comrade want a supper or a bed who is going to serve his country. You can repay me when we meet at Flushing."
"That I will with thanks," replied the Frenchman; "and so will Jacques here, if you will trust him."
"With pleasure," replied O'Brien, who then entered into a long conversation, by which he drew out from the Frenchmen that a party of conscripts had been ordered to Flushing, and that they had dropped behind the main body. O'Brien passed himself off as a conscript belonging to the party, and me as his brother, who had resolved to join the army as a drummer, rather than part with him. In about an hour we arrived at St Nicholas, and after some difficulty obtained entrance into a cabaret. "Vive la France!" said O'Brien, going up to the fire, and throwing the snow off his hat. In a short time we were seated to a good supper and very tolerable wine, the hostess sitting down by us, and listening to the true narratives of the real conscripts, and the false one of O'Brien. After supper the conscript who first addressed us pulled out his printed paper, with the route laid down, and observed that we were two days behind the others. O'Brien read it over, and laid it on the table, at the same time calling for more wine, having already pushed it round very freely. We did not drink much ourselves, but plied them hard, and at last the conscript commenced the whole history of his intended marriage and his disappointment, tearing his hair, and crying now and then. "Never mind," interrupted O'Brien, every two or three minutes, "buvons un autre coup pour la gloire!" and thus he continued to make them both drink until they reeled away to bed, forgetting their printed paper, which O'Brien had some time before slipped away from the table. We also retired to our room, when O'Brien observed to me. "Peter, this description is as much like me as I am to Old Nick; but that's of no consequence, as nobody goes willingly as a conscript, and therefore they will never have a doubt but that it is all right. We must be off early to-morrow, while these good people are in bed, and steal a long march upon them. I consider that we are now safe as far as Flushing."