Four young cavalry officers, travelling by rail, from Boulogne to Paris,
were joined at Amiens by a quiet, elderly gentleman, who shortly
requested that a little of one window might be opened—a not unreasonable
demand, as both were shut, and all four gentlemen were smoking. But it
was refused, and again refused on being preferred a second time, very
civilly; whereupon the elderly gentleman put his umbrella through the
glass. “Shall we stand the impertinence of this bourgeois?” said the
officers to one another. “Never.” And they thrust four cards into his
hand, which he received methodically, and looked carefully at all four;
producing his own, one of which he tendered to each officer with a bow.
Imagine their feelings when they read on each—“Marshal Randon, Ministre
de Guerre.”