“What a life! what a profession! Look, sir, it is not yet nine o’clock, and I have already made thirty trips. I had scarcely time to take my dram this morning, and in my haste I almost choked myself. How do I know I shall have time to swallow my absinthe? Shall I even get my breakfast? That is doubtful. As you see, I invariably reach the cantine an hour after the others. Everything is eaten, there is nothing left, or if there is, it is something no one would eat, and consequently intolerable. Then they bring me an egg. An egg!” (with a bitter laugh), “an egg! for a man who has been running about all the morning. Never adopt my profession, sir; my existence is insupportable--a dog’s life! To-morrow, you may rest assured, I shall tender my resignation and take my place in the ranks, like the others. But what am I doing? Here I have lost ten minutes in talking; clear oat, d--n you! I should have had time to drink my absinthe.” It must be admitted that the life of the vaguemestre is not a path of roses. He is the Mercury of that company of deities known as the staff of a regiment, and like that mythological courier, he must have wings on his feet. He is also the superintendent of the regimental post-office; all letters that come and go pass through his hands; he must know the hours for the arrival and departure of the mails, carry the letters, and go after them. If soldiers receive money through the post, they can not draw it themselves; they carry their order to him, and he draws it and pays it over to them; so I assure you this officer’s time is fully occupied. And yet something more than agility is needed, for he must think of everything. The slightest oversight or the least delay might produce serious consequences, for forgetfulness and want of punctuality are severely punished. In the morning he hastens to the post-office, then to the colonel’s house to obtain the order of the day; then he rushes back to the barracks in company with the messenger. He then hastily sorts the letters, making a separate pile for each squadron; these he gives to the sergeants, who give them to the corporals on duty for the week, who distribute them among the soldiers. But the hour for the report arrives; he hastens after it; then he starts off again. The report must be submitted to the superior officers. The lieutenant-colonel is waiting for it; the major is waiting for it, so the vaguemestre hurries away. On returning, he must stop to see a captain who has sent for him; besides, the colonel has intrusted him with a letter to be delivered to a lieutenant who lives at the very end of the town. What a nuisance! He rushes to the place, but does not find the lieutenant. The letter is important; the lieutenant must be at the _café_--lieutenants are always at the _café_--at least, when they are not at breakfast. The vaguemestre visits the _café_, no lieutenant; at last, he finds him at his boarding-house and delivers the letter.