The next stage was Bavay, in France. It is a little, but very ancient town of French Hainault; and the inhabitants, either actuated by loyalty to Louis XVIII., or by some remnant of that old friendship which the French had, or rather, pretended to have had for the Scots, received the Highland detachment with loud acclamations, and the entire population of the little city followed them through its gloomy old streets, till Ronald halted before the Hôtel de Ville, where the magistrates distributed the billet orders. The soldiers were treated with the utmost attention and kindness by the citizens, and this was the more pleasant, because quite unexpected on entering the enemy's country. It was Ronald's lot to be quartered upon a manufacturer of those woollen commodities which, with iron plate, are the principal commerce of Bavay. This worthy had a splendid residence outside the city, where his ample garden, orchard, &c. furnished every luxury that the delightful climate and fruitful soil of France could yield him. He received Stuart coldly, for he was one of those thorough-paced business mortals who consider the soldier a burden, a bore, a useless and unnecessary animal. His wife, a plump old dame, in a large French cap and ample petticoat, and mademoiselle her daughter, a lively and good-looking girl about twenty, seemed to think otherwise, and made all the preparations in their power to receive the soldier with attention. There is a mysterious something in the scarlet coat which, to the feminine portion of this world, is quite irresistible.
The young lady made arrangements to give a little fête that evening, and all her female companions—everybody that was anybody in and about Bavay, were to be there, and the whole house was turned topsy-turvy; but she was wofully disappointed.
She had been singing and tinkling with the guitar and piano to Ronald for the greater part of the day, and he amused himself by sitting beside her, turning over the leaves of music-books and albums, saying soft little nothings all the while. Madame the mother often sang in accompaniment, and they had become quite like old acquaintances. But the gruff manufacturer of cotton hose and shirts had watched their proceedings with a louring eye, and towards evening he took up a new position, which cut short the preparations for the fête. He placed both mother and daughter in durance vile, by locking them up in some retired room; after which he rode off with the key in his pocket. Whether he was influenced by jealousy, or by national dislike, it is impossible to say, but the first is rather unlikely. Mademoiselle was tolerably agreeable, and had a very white hand for the daughter of a plebeian; but her mother was ugly enough to have frightened an old troop-horse, and Monsieur, the cotton manufacturer of Bavay, need have given himself no uneasiness on her account. But the awkward affair made a great noise in the town, and the story was related with various pleasant additions and variations by the officers of the forty-twa, on their arrival at Clichy camp, and there was many a hearty laugh at Ronald's expense in the mess-rooms of the ninth brigade.
Next morning, while the ladies were still under lock and key, the detachments quitted the ancient capital of the Nervii, and marched for La Coteau.
They were now in France; the boasted, "the beautiful, the invincible, the sacred France," marching over it, treading upon its soil,—with bayonets fixed, drums beating, and all the pomp of war,—unobstructed and free, as conquerors. The proud and triumphant feelings attendant on such circumstances conflicted in their breasts with the sentiments of Lord Wellington's order, desiring that the allied army were "to remember that their respective sovereigns were the allies of his Majesty the king of France, and that therefore France must be considered as a friendly country." The inhabitants of the towns, and the rural districts also, beheld them march on with apparent apathy; whatever their secret feelings might have been, they were admirably concealed. A few old friends of the Bourbons may be excepted, and these were chiefly old men and women, living in remote parts of the country. In some little villages they were received with shouts of welcome: in large towns, their drums and pipes gave forth the only sounds heard in the streets.
At Cambray, Stuart was agreeably surprised to find that, by certain changes which had taken place in the regiment, he had, as Lisle predicted, gained his "spurs," and was now regimental major.
"You may thank your lucky stars for this rapid promotion, Stuart," said the Guardsman who had saved his life at Mons.
"I may thank death,—the slaughter of Maya, Vittoria, Orthes, Toulouse, and Waterloo rather," replied Ronald. "Certes! I have no reason to complain, though I have seen work, both hard and hot, while roughing it in the Peninsula."
"But a major!" continued the other, "and only three-and-twenty! Major! a rank ever associated with ease and good living, the gout, and six allowances of wine at the mess, with a belt of greater girth than that of any other man in the regiment! I congratulate you, my friend, and propose that we wet the commission." And it was 'wetted' forthwith accordingly, in some excellent eau-de-vie.
This promotion made Ronald completely happy; it was the more agreeable because, like his accession to the property of his uncle, it was quite unlooked-for. As for the death of the latter, he had neither reason to be glad nor very sorry; but he felt as merry as a man can be who has suddenly succeeded to a handsome fortune, and he demonstrated the fact by tossing his bonnet a dozen of times to the ceiling, at which strange employment his friend of the Coldstream surprised him in his billet at Brussels.