CITIZEN FENOUILLOT, COMMERCIAL TRAVELLER FOR CHAMPAGNE
Pichegru's _valet de chambre_, who had the good sense not to change his
title for that of an official, and his name of Leblanc for that of
Lerouge, had, in the meantime, set the table for breakfast, and covered
it with the provisions which he had brought with him--a necessary
precaution when, as now, they passed from the battlefield to the
breakfast table.
Our young men, wearied, hungry, some of them even wounded, were not
insensible to the prospect of breakfast, of which they felt the greatest
need. But the cheers of satisfaction redoubled when they saw among a
number of bottles, whose simplicity denoted their democratic origin, six
others with silver collars, showing that they belonged to the best
houses of Champagne.
Pichegru himself noticed it, and, turning to his valet, said with
military freedom: "Ah, Leblanc, is it my birthday or yours? Or is it
simply to celebrate our victory of to-day that we find such wine upon my
table? Do you know that I should get my throat cut for this if it were
reported to the Committee of Public Safety?"
"Citizen general," replied the valet, "those are not the reasons,
although, for that matter, your victory deserves to be celebrated; and
on a day when you have taken seven hundred and fifty thousand francs you
may well drink twenty francs' worth of champagne without wronging the
government. No, general, do not let your conscience trouble you; the
champagne which you will drink to-day will cost neither you nor the
government a penny."
"I hope, rascal," said Pichegru, laughing, "that it has not been stolen
from some wine merchant, or pillaged from some cellar?"
"No, general, it was a patriotic gift."
"A patriotic gift?"
"Yes, from citizen Fenouillot."
"Who is citizen Fenouillot? Is that the lawyer at Besançon; for there is
such a lawyer at Besançon, is there not, Charles?"
"Yes," replied the boy, "he is one of my father's best friends."
"He has nothing to do with lawyers, or with Besançon either for that
matter," said Leblanc, who was permitted to speak freely with the
general; "he is citizen Fenouillot, commercial traveller for the house
of Fraissinet of Châlons, who, in gratitude for the service you have
done him in delivering him out of the hands of the enemy, has sent you
these six bottles of wine, so that you may drink them to your own health
and to that of the Republic."
"Then your citizen Fenouillot was here with the enemy?"
"Certainly, since he was a prisoner, he and his samples."
"Do you hear, general?" asked Abatucci.
"Perhaps he might be able to give us some useful information," suggested
Doumerc.
"Where does your citizen live?" asked Pichegru.
"Here, in the hotel to the left of the town-hall."
"Put on an extra plate--there, just opposite mine--and then go tell
citizen Fenouillot that I request the pleasure of his company at
breakfast with us. Gentlemen, take your customary places while we are
waiting."
The officers seated themselves as usual, and Pichegru put Charles at his
left.
Leblanc put on the extra plate and then went out.
Five minutes later he returned. He had found citizen Fenouillot just
about to sit down to breakfast, but he had eagerly accepted the
general's invitation. Consequently, he was following the messenger who
had been sent for him; and, in fact, a moment after Leblanc had
returned, some one knocked at the door, giving the Masonic raps.
Leblanc hastened to open it.
A man about thirty-five years of age stood upon the threshold, attired
in the civilian's dress of that period--a pointed, broad-brimmed hat, a
loose cravat, and a waistcoat with large lapels. He had on a brown coat
with long skirts, tight, light-colored trousers and top boots; his
complexion was fair and his hair curled naturally; he had brown eyebrows
and whiskers, the latter half-hidden in his cravat. His eyes were bold,
his nose was large and his lips were thin. As he entered the
dining-room, Fenouillot hesitated slightly.
"Come in, citizen Fenouillot," said Pichegru, who had seen the
hesitation, slight as it was.
"Upon my word," said the latter easily, "the thing was of so little
consequence that I hesitated to believe that your kind invitation was
intended for me."
"What of little consequence? Do you know that, with my allowance of five
hundred francs a day, I should have to go three days without eating in
order to afford fare like this? So sit down opposite me, citizen. Take
your place!"
The two officers who were appointed to sit beside him moved their chairs
and pointed to his. Citizen Fenouillot sat down, and the general cast a
rapid glance at his snow-white linen and his carefully kept hands.
"And you were a prisoner when we entered Dawendorff?"
"About that, general. I did not know the road to Haguenau was invested
until I was stopped by some Prussians, who were preparing to drink my
samples when, happily, an officer arrived who took me to the
commander-in-chief. I thought I had nothing more to fear than the loss
of my samples, and was already consoling myself with that notion when
the word 'spy' fell upon my ears. At that, as you can readily
understand, I began to think, and then I asked to be taken to the
commander of the royalists."
"The Prince de Condé?"
"I would have asked for the devil himself, as you can well imagine! They
took me to the Prince, who examined my papers, and as I answered all his
questions frankly, and he saw, after tasting my wine, that it was not of
a kind that a dishonest man would carry, he told his allies, the
Prussians, that I was a Frenchman, and that he would detain me as his
prisoner."
"And was your detention hard?" asked Abatucci, while Pichegru regarded
his guest with a scrutiny that showed he was rather inclined to share
the Prussian general's opinion.
"Not at all," replied citizen Fenouillot; "the Prince and his son liked
my wine, and they treated me with a consideration almost equal to that
which you have shown me, although I must confess that when the news of
the capitulation of Toulon arrived, yesterday, and I, as a good
Frenchman, could not conceal my delight, the Prince, with whom I was
talking at the time, dismissed me in a very bad humor."
"Ah, ha!" exclaimed Pichegru; "then Toulon has really been recaptured
from the English?"
"Yes, general."
"What day was Toulon taken?"
"The 19th."
"And to-day is the 21st. Impossible! The devil! the Prince de Condé has
not the telegraph at his disposal."
"No," replied the other; "but he has the pigeon-post, and
carrier-pigeons travel forty-eight miles an hour. In short, the news
came to Strasbourg, where pigeons abound, and I myself saw the little
note in the Prince's hands. The note was small, having been fastened
under the bird's wing, but the writing was fine, and therefore it
contained several details."
"And do you know what they were?"
"The city capitulated on the 19th. That same day part of the besieging
army entered, and, in the evening, by order of the commissioner of the
Convention, two hundred and thirteen persons were shot."
"Is that all? Did it not mention a certain Buonaparte?"
"Yes, indeed; it said that the capture of the city was due to him."
"He is certainly my cousin," said Abatucci, laughing.
"And my pupil," added Pichegru. "Faith, so much the better! The Republic
needs men of genius to offset such wretches as Fouché."
"Fouché?"
"Was it not Fouché who followed the French army to Lyons, and on the
first day he was in power ordered two hundred and thirteen men shot?"
"Ah, yes; but that was at Lyons. At Toulon it is citizen Barras."
"And who is citizen Barras?"
"Only a deputy from the Var, who has served in India, and learned there
to imitate the habits of the Nabobs. At the Convention he sits with the
Mountain. At all events; it looks as if they were going to shoot all the
population, and raze the town."
"Let them destroy and shoot! The sooner they do it, the quicker they
will get through," said Pichegru. "Faith! I prefer our former good God
to the modern Supreme Being who permits such horrors."
"And what do they say of my cousin Buonaparte?"
"They say that he is a young artillery officer," continued citizen
Fenouillot, "and a friend of young Robespierre."
"Come, general," said Abatucci, "if he is on such good terms with the
Jacobins as that, he will make his way and protect us in the bargain."
"Speaking of protection," said citizen Fenouillot, "is what the Duc de
Bourbon told me when he was eulogizing you true?"
"Very kind of the Duc de Bourbon," said Pichegru, laughing. "What did he
tell you?"
"That it was his father, the Prince de Condé, to whom you owed your
first promotion."
"Yes," replied Pichegru.
"How was that?" asked three or four voices.
"I was serving as a common soldier in the royal artillery, when one day
the Prince de Condé, who was present at the battery exercises at
Besançon, came over to the gun which he considered the best managed; but
while the gunner was sponging the piece it went off and shot away his
arm. The prince attributed this accident to me, accusing me of not
having properly closed the orifice with my thumb. I let him talk, and my
only reply was to show him my bleeding hand. My thumb was turned back,
and almost torn from the hand. Here," he continued, holding out his
hand; "here is the scar. The prince forthwith promoted me to the rank of
sergeant."
Little Charles, who was near the general, took his hand as if he wanted
to examine it, and with a sudden movement stooped and kissed it.
"Why, what are you doing?" asked Pichegru, pulling his hand away
quickly.
"I? Nothing," said Charles. "I admire you."