Ch. 2 - One of Fouche's Ideas

One morning towards the end of Brumaire just as Hulot was exercising
his brigade, now by order of his superiors wholly concentrated at
Mayenne, a courier arrived from Alencon with despatches, at the
reading of which his face betrayed extreme annoyance.

"Forward, then!" he cried in an angry tone, sticking the papers into
the crown of his hat. "Two companies will march with me towards
Mortagne. The Chouans are there. You will accompany me," he said to
Merle and Gerard. "May be I created a nobleman if I can understand one
word of that despatch. Perhaps I'm a fool! well, anyhow, forward,
march! there's no time to lose."

"Commandant, by your leave," said Merle, kicking the cover of the
ministerial despatch with the toe of his boot, "what is there so
exasperating in that?"

"God's thunder! nothing at all--except that we are fooled."

When the commandant gave vent to this military oath (an object it must
be said of Republican atheistical remonstrance) it gave warning of a
storm; the diverse intonations of the words were degrees of a
thermometer by which the brigade could judge of the patience of its
commander; the old soldier's frankness of nature had made this
knowledge so easy that the veriest little drummer-boy knew his Hulot
by heart, simply by observing the variations of the grimace with which
the commander screwed up his cheek and snapped his eyes and vented his
oath. On this occasion the tone of smothered rage with which he
uttered the words made his two friends silent and circumspect. Even
the pits of the small-pox which dented that veteran face seemed
deeper, and the skin itself browner than usual. His broad queue,
braided at the edges, had fallen upon one of his epaulettes as he
replaced his three-cornered hat, and he flung it back with such fury
that the ends became untied. However, as he stood stock-still, his
hands clenched, his arms crossed tightly over his breast, his mustache
bristling, Gerard ventured to ask him presently: "Are we to start at
once?"

"Yes, if the men have ammunition."

"They have."

"Shoulder arms! Left wheel, forward, march!" cried Gerard, at a sign
from the commandant.

The drum-corps marched at the head of the two companies designated by
Gerard. At the first roll of the drums the commandant, who still stood
plunged in thought, seemed to rouse himself, and he left the town
accompanied by his two officers, to whom he said not a word. Merle and
Gerard looked at each other silently as if to ask, "How long is he
going to keep us in suspense?" and, as they marched, they cautiously
kept an observing eye on their leader, who continued