I should say I did remember that Epiphany supper during the war!
exclaimed Count de Garens, an army captain.
I was quartermaster of cavalry at the time, and for a fortnight had been
scouting in front of the German advance guard. The evening before we had
cut down a few Uhlans and had lost three men, one of whom was that poor
little Raudeville. You remember Joseph de Raudeville, of course.
Well, on that day my commanding officer ordered me to take six troopers
and to go and occupy the village of Porterin, where there had been five
skirmishes in three weeks, and to hold it all night. There were not
twenty houses left standing, not a dozen houses in that wasps' nest. So
I took ten troopers and set out about four o'clock, and at five o'clock,
while it was still pitch dark, we reached the first houses of Porterin.
I halted and ordered Marchas--you know Pierre de Marchas, who
afterward married little Martel-Auvelin, the daughter of the Marquis de
Martel-Auvelin--to go alone into the village, and to report to me what
he saw.
I had selected nothing but volunteers, all men of good family. It is
pleasant when on duty not to be forced to be on intimate terms with
unpleasant fellows. This Marchas was as smart as possible, cunning as a
fox and supple as a serpent. He could scent the Prussians as a dog can
scent a hare, could discover food where we should have died of hunger
without him, and obtained information from everybody, and information
which was always reliable, with incredible cleverness.
In ten minutes he returned. “All right,” he said; “there have been no
Prussians here for three days. It is a sinister place, is this village.
I have been talking to a Sister of Mercy, who is caring for four or five
wounded men in an abandoned convent.”
I ordered them to ride on, and we entered the principal street. On the
right and left we could vaguely see roofless walls, which were hardly
visible in the profound darkness. Here and there a light was burning in
a room; some family had remained to keep its house standing as well as
they were able; a family of brave or of poor people. The rain began to
fall, a fine, icy cold rain, which froze as it fell on our cloaks.
The horses stumbled against stones, against beams, against furniture.
Marchas guided us, going before us on foot, and leading his horse by the
bridle.
“Where are you taking us to?” I asked him. And he replied: “I have a
place for us to lodge in, and a rare good one.” And we presently stopped
before a small house, evidently belonging to some proprietor of the
middle class. It stood on the street, was quite inclosed, and had a
garden in the rear.
Marchas forced open the lock by means of a big stone which he picked up
near the garden gate; then he mounted the steps, smashed in the front
door with his feet and shoulders, lit a bit of wax candle, which he was
never without, and went before us into the comfortable apartments of
some rich private individual, guiding us with admirable assurance, as if
he lived in this house which he now saw for the first time.
Two troopers remained outside to take care of our horses, and Marchas
said to stout Ponderel, who followed him: “The stables must be on the
left; I saw that as we came in; go and put the animals up there, for we
do not need them;” and then, turning to me, he said: “Give your orders,
confound it all!”
This fellow always astonished me, and I replied with a laugh: “I will
post my sentinels at the country approaches and will return to you
here.”
“How many men are you going to take?”
“Five. The others will relieve them at five o'clock in the evening.”
“Very well. Leave me four to look after provisions, to do the cooking
and to set the table. I will go and find out where the wine is hidden.”
I went off, to reconnoitre the deserted streets until they ended in the
open country, so as to post my sentries there.
Half an hour later I was back, and found Marchas lounging in a great
easy-chair, the covering of which he had taken off, from love of luxury,
as he said. He was warming his feet at the fire and smoking an excellent
cigar, whose perfume filled the room. He was alone, his elbows resting
on the arms of the chair, his head sunk between his shoulders, his
cheeks flushed, his eyes bright, and looking delighted.
I heard the noise of plates and dishes in the next room, and Marchas
said to me, smiling in a con tented manner: “This is famous; I found the
champagne under the flight of steps outside, the brandy--fifty bottles
of the very finest in the kitchen garden under a pear tree, which did
not seem to me to be quite straight when I looked at it by the light of
my lantern. As for solids, we have two fowls, a goose, a duck, and
three pigeons. They are being cooked at this moment. It is a delightful
district.”
I sat down opposite him, and the fire in the grate was burning my nose
and cheeks. “Where did you find this wood?” I asked. “Splendid wood,”
he replied. “The owner's carriage. It is the paint which is causing all
this flame, an essence of punch and varnish. A capital house!”
I laughed, for I saw the creature was funny, and he went on: “Fancy this
being the Epiphany! I have had a bean put into the goose dressing; but
there is no queen; it is really very annoying!” And I repeated like an
echo: “It is annoying, but what do you want me to do in the matter?” “To
find some, of course.” “Some women. Women?--you must be mad?” “I managed
to find the brandy under the pear tree, and the champagne under the
steps; and yet there was nothing to guide me, while as for you, a
petticoat is a sure bait. Go and look, old fellow.”
He looked so grave, so convinced, that I could not tell whether he was
joking or not, and so I replied: “Look here, Marchas, are you having
a joke with me?” “I never joke on duty.” “But where the devil do you
expect me to find any women?” “Where you like; there must be two or
three remaining in the neighborhood, so ferret them out and bring them
here.”