Night came on. Laurence beheld the camp-fires lighted and the glitter of stacked arms. The old marquis, whose courage was chivalric, drove the horses himself (two strong beasts bought the evening before), his servant sitting beside him. He knew very well he should find neither horses nor postilions within the lines of the army. Suddenly the bold equipage, an object of great astonishment to the soldiers, was stopped by a gendarme of the military gendarmerie, who galloped up to the carriage, calling out to the marquis: “Who are you? where are you going? what do you want?”
“The Emperor,” replied the Marquis de Chargeboeuf; “I have an important dispatch for the Grand-marechal Duroc.”
“Well, you can’t stay here,” said the gendarme.
Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne and the marquis were, however, compelled to remain where they were on account of the darkness.
“Where are we?” she asked, stopping two officers whom she saw passing, whose uniforms were concealed by cloth overcoats.
“You are among the advanced guard of the French army,” answered one of the officers. “You cannot stay here, for if the enemy makes a movement and the artillery opens you will be between two fires.”
“Ah!” she said, with an indifferent air.
Hearing that “Ah!” the other officer turned and said: “How did that woman come here?”
“We are waiting,” said Laurence, “for a gendarme who has gone to find General Duroc, a protector who will enable us to speak to the Emperor.”
“Speak to the Emperor!” exclaimed the first officer; “how can you think of such a thing—on the eve of a decisive battle?”