“Two men remained outside, guarding our horses.
“ ‘The stables must be on the left,’ said Marchas to fat Ponderel, who was following him; ‘I saw them as I came in. Go and put up the animals: we don’t need them any more.’
“He turned to me.
“ ‘Give your orders—can’t you?—damn your eyes!’
“The fellow was always surprising me.
“ ‘I’m going to put sentries round the village,’ I replied, laughing. ‘I’ll find you here when I’ve finished.’
“ ‘How many men are you taking?’ he asked.
“ ‘Five. The others will relieve them at ten tonight.’
“ ‘Right. You’re leaving me four to get food, do the cooking, and lay the table. I’m going to find where the wine is hidden.’
“I went off to reconnoitre the deserted streets as far as the point where they ran out into the plain, and placed my sentries.
“I was back again in half an hour. I found Marchas lying in a large lounge chair; he had taken off its loose cover, for love of soft living, he said. He was toasting his feet at the fire, and smoking an excellent cigar, the scent of which filled the room. He was alone, his elbows on the arms of the chair, his head sunk between his shoulders, his cheeks pink, his eyes bright, and his expression one of delighted contentment.
“I heard a clatter of plates in the next room. Marchas greeted me with a beatific smile.
“ ‘All serene,’ he said; ‘I found the claret in the henhouse, the champagne under the front doorsteps, and the brandy—fifty bottles of real good stuff—in the kitchen garden, under a pear-tree, which, in the light of a lantern, did not look to me to be quite straight. As for victuals, we’ve two hens, a goose, a duck, three pigeons, and a blackbird found in a cage; nothing, in fact, but our feathered friends. It’s all cooking now. This is a splendid place.’
“I had sat down opposite him. The flame in the fireplace scorched my nose and cheeks.
“ ‘Where did you find that wood?’ I asked.
“ ‘Wonderful wood,’ he murmured, ‘first-rate carriage, a coupé. It’s the paint that makes it flare up, a sort of punch of spirit and varnish. A jolly good house!’
“I laughed at the fellow, he was so comic.
“ ‘And to think it’s Twelfth Night!’ he continued. ‘I’ve had a bean put in the goose; but there’s no queen; what a pity!’
“ ‘What a pity!’ I echoed; ‘but what do you want me to do about it?’
“ ‘Find ’em, of course!’
“ ‘What?’
“ ‘Women.’
“ ‘Women? … You’re mad.’
“ ‘Well, I found the brandy under the pear-tree—didn’t I?—and the champagne under the doorsteps, and I had nothing to go on, either. Whereas, for you, a skirt is a sure sign. You just have a hunt, old man.’
“He seemed so grave, so serious, so convinced, that I could not tell if he were jesting.
“ ‘Marchas,’ I replied, ‘you’re pulling my leg.’
“ ‘No, I’m not; I never do, on service.’
“ ‘But where the devil do you expect me to find women?’
“ ‘Anywhere. There must be two or three left in the neighbourhood. Rout them out and bring them along.’
“I rose. It was too hot in front of the fire.
“ ‘Do you want a suggestion?’ added Marchas.
“ ‘Yes.’
“ ‘Go and find the priest.’
“ ‘The priest. What for?’
“ ‘Ask him to supper, and tell him to bring a woman.’
“ ‘The priest! A woman! Ha! ha! ha!’
“ ‘I’m not joking,’ replied Marchas with extraordinary seriousness. ‘Go and find the priest, and tell him our situation. He must be frightfully bored; he’ll come all right. But tell him we must have at least one woman, a decent woman, of course, since we’re all gentlemen. He must have his female parishioners’ names and natures at his fingers’ ends. If there’s a possible one about, and you make a good job of it, he’ll tell you who she is.’
“ ‘But, good Lord, Marchas, what are you thinking of?’
“ ‘My dear Garens, you can do it beautifully. It’ll be awfully funny. Damn it, we’re all good fellows, decently bred and agreeable and that sort of thing. Give the priest our names, make him laugh, soften his heart, seduce him, and win him over!’
“ ‘No, it’s impossible.’
“He drew up his chair. The dog knew my pet weakness, and replied:
“ ‘Think what a joke it would be, and what a good story it will make. The whole army will be talking of it. It’ll get you no end of a reputation.’
“I wavered, tempted by the adventure.
“ ‘Come on, Garens,’ he persisted. ‘You’re commander here, and the only man who can go and seek out the local commander of the Church. Do go. And I’ll make a poem about it, in the Revue des Deux Mondes, after the war, I swear I will. You owe it to your men; you’ve been trotting them all over the place for a solid month.’
“I got up.
“ ‘Where is the rectory?’ I asked.
“ ‘Take the second turning on the left. At the end of it, you’ll find an avenue, and, at the end of the avenue, the church. The rectory is beside it.’
“As he went out, he called after me:
“ ‘Tell him the menu, to give him an appetite.’
“I had no difficulty in finding the priest’s little house, beside a large ugly brick church. The door had no bell or knocker, and I beat it with my upon fist.
“ ‘Who’s there?’ asked a loud voice from within.
“ ‘Quartermaster of Hussars,’ I replied.
“I heard a noise of bolts and a key being turned, and found myself face to face with a tall, potbellied priest, with the chest of a prizefighter, formidable hands issuing from his rolled-back sleeves, a red complexion, and an air of good-fellowship.
“I saluted him in military fashion.
“ ‘Good afternoon, your Reverence.’
“He had feared a surprise, an ambuscade by wandering troops, and it was with a smile that he replied:
“ ‘Good afternoon, friend; come in.’
“I followed him into a little room with a red tiled floor; a meagre fire was burning, very different from Marchas’ furnace.
“He showed me a chair, and then said:
“ ‘What can I do for you?’
“ ‘First of all, your Reverence, permit me to
