He heaves a mighty sigh of relief. Now he can breakfast; he hurries on with all the fleetness of which his tired limbs are capable; hunger lends him wings. He reaches the barracks. Alas! the adjutant-major who has just left the table, stops him in the passage; he has a few suggestions to make--adjutant-majors always have suggestions to make. At last he breakfasts in turn; he is the last of all. But it is useless to describe the experience of the entire day. The vaguemestre is gifted with an extraordinary memory. Every week, when he distributes the money received by the soldiers, he knows the exact condition of each man’s account; he must know if those who are entitled to money are in disgrace or ill. Every week the sergeant on duty in each squadron must furnish him with a report embodying this information; but it would take too much time to consult these documents. He prefers to remember. So, Sunday morning the trumpeter sounds the vaguemestre’s call, that is to say, executes a sort of flourish that signifies: “All who have received money-orders through the post must come and find the vaguemestre if they desire what is due them.” This call is so well understood that the soldiers respond promptly, and without hesitation, whereupon colloquies of this kind ensue: THE VAGUEMESTRE. Private Demanet, you have received twelve francs. PRIVATE DEMANET. Yes, lieutenant Vaguemestre. Private Demanet, your outfit is not yet paid for; you are credited with only eleven francs, which is a deplorable state of things. You must devote your twelve francs to this purpose. PRIVATE DEMARET. I entreat you, lieutenant--Vaguemestre. Well, then, here are a hundred sous. I will keep back only seven francs. Make out a receipt. EXAMPLE SECOND. VAGUEMESTRE. Private Castagnol, you have received fifty francs. PRIVATE CASTAGNOL. Yes, lieutenant Vaguemestre. Your parents seem to have more money than they know what to do with. PRIVATE CASTAGNOL. Lieutenant, my family-- VAGUEMESTRE. Ah! I remember, you are a volunteer. Very well, you may go. PRIVATE CASTAGNOL. But my money? VAGUEMESTRE. You have eight days in the guard-house to make. Next Sunday, if you are not punished in the meantime, you shall have your money. PRIVATE OASTAGNOL. But-- VAGUEMESTRE. No remarks. PRIVATE CASTAGNOL (_turning angrily away_). I shall tell my friends to send bank-notes next time. The vaguemestre being usually an adjutant, the soldiers address him as lieutenant. THE ZOUAVE. Many have talked of the zouave: few know him.