oms;
horn goblets and platters knocked to pieces; but worst of all, a keg of
true Nantz was broached, and every drop lost. Poor Madame Gougon! she
loved that ass as if he had been one of the regiment; and though we
all offered her assignats on our pay, for a month each, to give us the
carcass, she wouldn't do it. No, faith! she would have him buried, and
with funeral honors! _Parbleu!_ it was a whim; but the poor thing was
in grief, and we could not refuse her. I commanded the party," continued
Pioche, "and a long distance we had to march, lest the shots might be
heard in the quartier-general. Well, we had some trouble in getting the
poor soul away from the grave. _Sacristi!_ she took it so much to heart,
I thought she 'd have masses said for him. But we did succeed at last,
and before dawn we were all within the camp as if nothing had happened.
The whole of that day, however, the ass was never out of our minds. It
was not grief; no, no! don't think that. We were all thinking of what a
sin it was to have him buried there,--such a fine beast as he was,--and
not a pound of meat to be had if you were to offer a nine-pounder gun
for it. 'He is never the worse for his funeral,' said I; 'remember,
boys, how well preserved he was in brandy before he was buried: let's
have him up again!' No sooner was night come, than we set off for
the place where we laid him, and in less than two hours I was busily
employed in making a delicious salmi of his haunch. _Mille bommbes!_ I
think I have the smell of it before me; it was gibier, and the gravy
was like a purie. We were all pleasantly seated round the fire, watching
every turn of the roast, when--crack!--I heard the noise of the patrol
bringing his gun to the present, and before we had time to jump up, the
Petit Caporal was upon us; he was mounted on a little dark Arab, and
dressed in his gray surtout.

"'What 's all this here?' cried he, pulling up short, while the barb
sniffed the air, just as if he guessed what the meat was. 'Who has
stolen this sheep?'

"'It is not a sheep, General,' said I, stepping forward, and trying to
hide the long ladle I was basting with.

[Illustration: The "Big Pioche" Indulging in Delicacies 430]

"'Not a sheep; then it is an ox, mayhap, or a calf," said he again, with
an angry look.

"'Neither, General,' said I; 'it was a--a--a beast of our division.'

"'A beast of your division! What does that mean? No trifling, mind! out
with it at once. What's