iously retain for the time when some
great emotion rouses all its depths, and opens them to the light of
day. It was to me a new chapter in the history of man.

The news which I had brought of the positions of the armies rendered
me an object of marked interest. I was questioned on every point;
first, and especially, of the intention of the commander-in-chief,
with the most anxious yet most polished minuteness. But, as on this
subject my lips were comparatively sealed, the state of the troops
with whom they were so soon to be brought into contact became the more
manageable topic. On mentioning that Dumourier was placed in command,
I received free and full communications on the subject of his
qualities for being the last hope of revolutionary France. One had
known him in his early career in the engineers, another had served
along with him in Corsica, a third had met him at the court of
Portugal; the concurring report being, that he was a coxcomb of the
first water, showy but superficial, and though personally brave, sure
to be bewildered when he found himself for the first time working the
wheels and springs of that puzzling machine, an army in the field. A
caustic old Provencal marquis, with his breast glittering with the
stars of a whole constellation of knighthood, yet who sat with the
cross-belts and cartouche-box of the rank and file upon him, agreeing
with all the premises, stoutly denied the conclusions. "He is a
coxcomb," said the old Marquis. "Well, he is only the fitter to
command an army of upstarts. He has seen nothing but Corsican service;
well, he is the fitter to command an army of banditti. And he has been
an _espion_ of the Government in Portugal; what better training could
he have for heading an army of traitors? Rely upon it, gentlemen, that
you have mistaken his character; if you think that he is not the very
man whom the mob of Paris ought to have chosen for their general, I
merely recommend, that when you go into action you should leave your
watches in camp, and, if you charge any of their battalions, look well
to your purses."

The old soldier's sally restored our gaiety; but the man best
acquainted with the French commander-in-chief was my friend the
chevalier, at the head of the table. "It has singularly enough
happened to me to have met M. Dumourier in almost every scene of his
life, since his return from his first service in Germany. Our first
meeting was in the military hospital in Toulouse,