The soldiers fell into their ranks, Commandant Gémeau, who had only just recovered from his wounds, drew his sword, and gave the order to form square.
M. Goulden and I got on a bench to listen; we knew that the fate of France depended on the message we were to hear.
"Present arms!" called out the commandant in the same clear voice which had bidden us at Lützen and Leipzig, "Close up your ranks!"
Then came the news we had been waiting for.
"Soldiers, his Majesty Louis XVIII. left Paris on March 20, and the Emperor Napoleon entered the capital the same day."
For a second there was a dead silence, and then the commandant spoke of the banner of France, the banner of Marengo, Austerlitz, and Jena, stained with our blood; and the old sergeant drew out the tattered tricolour flag from its case.
"I know no other flag!" cried the commandant, raising his sword. "Vive la France! Vive l'Empereur!"
What a shout there was of "Vive l'Empereur! Vive la France!" at this. The people and the soldiers embraced one another, and that night and for the next five or six days there was, if anything, even more rejoicing than there had been on the return of Louis XVIII. We still hoped for the continuance of peace, but who could say how long the peace would last?
Phalsbourg was ordered to put itself into a state of defence, a large workshop was set up at the arsenal for the repairing of arms, and engineers and artillerymen came over from Metz to make earthworks in the fortifications. It seemed to me that a large number of men would be required for all the guns and forts, and that my watchmaking days would soon be exchanged for active service. I began to think that, after all, religious processions were better than being sent to fight against people one knew nothing about.