Dieu, but the joy went through my heart like a musket-ball.  They were ours—­our own dear little rascals from the corps of Marmont.  Round whisked my two dragoons and galloped for their lives, with the moon gleaming on their brass helmets, while I trotted up to my friends with no undue haste, for I would have them understand that though a hussar may fly, it is not in his nature to fly very fast.  Yet I fear that Violette’s heaving flanks and foam-spattered muzzle gave the lie to my careless bearing.

Who should be at the head of the troop but old Bouvet, whom I saved at Leipzig!  When he saw me his little pink eyes filled with tears, and, indeed, I could not but shed a few myself at the sight of his joy.  I told him of my mission, but he laughed when I said that I must pass through Senlis.

‘The enemy is there,’ said he.  ‘You cannot go.’

‘I prefer to go where the enemy is,’ I answered.

’But why not go straight to Paris with your despatch?  Why should you choose to pass through the one place where you are almost sure to be taken or killed?’

‘A soldier does not choose—­he obeys,’ said I, just as I had heard Napoleon say it.

Old Bouvet laughed in his wheezy way, until I had to give my moustachios a twirl and look him up and down in a manner which brought him to reason.

‘Well’, said he, ’you had best come along with us, for we are all bound for Senlis.  Our orders are to reconnoitre the place.  A squadron of Poniatowski’s Polish Lancers are in front of us.  If you must ride through it, it is possible that we may be able to go with you.’

So away we went, jingling and clanking through the quiet night until we came up with the Poles—­fine old soldiers all of them, though a trifle heavy for their horses.  It was a treat to see them, for they could not have carried themselves better if they had belonged to my own brigade.  We rode together, until in the early morning we saw the lights of Senlis.  A peasant was coming along with a cart, and from him we learned how things were going there.

His information was certain, for his brother was the Mayor’s coachman, and he had spoken with him late the night before.  There was a single squadron of Cossacks—­or a polk, as they call it in their frightful language—­quartered upon the Mayor’s house, which stands at the corner of the market-place, and is the largest building in the town.  A whole division of Prussion infantry was encamped in the woods to the north, but only the Cossacks were in Senlis.  Ah, what a chance to avenge ourselves upon these barbarians, whose cruelty to our poor countryfolk was the talk at every camp fire.