ed, heaped insults on each other, taking care not to
make too much noise; however, and appointed a meeting for the next day,
at four o'clock in the morning, in the suburbs of Marquise, a little
village about two leagues from Boulogne. It was very late in the
evening when these soldiers left the public house.

More than two hundred grenadiers of the Guard went separately to the
place of meeting, and found the ground occupied by an almost equal number
of their adversaries of the Thirty-sixth, Fifty-seventh, and Tenth.
Wasting no time in explanations, hardly a sound being heard, each soldier
drew his sword, and for more than an hour they fought in a cool,
deliberate manner which was frightful to behold. A man named Martin,
grenadier of the Guard, and of gigantic stature, killed with his own hand
seven or eight soldiers of the Tenth. They would probably have continued
till all were massacred if General Saint-Hilaire, informed too late of
this bloody quarrel, had not sent out in all haste a regiment of cavalry,
who put an end to the combat. The grenadiers had lost two men, and the
soldiers of the line thirteen, with a large number of wounded on both
sides.

The First Consul visited the camp next day, and had brought before him
those who had caused this terrible scene, and said to them in a severe
tone: "I know why you fought each other; many brave men have fallen in a
struggle unworthy of them and of you. You shall be punished. I have
given orders that the verses which have been the cause of so much trouble
shall be printed. I hope that, in learning your punishment, the ladies
of Boulogne will know that you have deserved the blame of your comrades
in arms."

However, the troops, and above all the officers, began to grow weary of
their sojourn at Boulogne, a town less likely, perhaps, than any other to
render such an inactive existence endurable. They did not murmur,
however, because never where the First Consul was did murmuring find a
place; but they fumed nevertheless under their breath at seeing
themselves held in camp or in fort, with England just in sight, only nine
or ten leagues distant. Pleasures were rare at Boulogne; the women,
generally pretty, but extremely timid, did not dare to hold receptions at
their own houses, for fear of displeasing their husbands, very jealous
men, as are all those of Picardy. There was, however, a handsome hall in
which balls and soirees could easily have been given; but, although very