It was the morning following this riot when the French corps above spoken of presented itself before La Roche-Pont. It was welcomed in the upper town with every demonstration of joy. An army come to their help magnificently accoutred and provided would not have been better received. But this troop, exhausted by fatigue, and having eaten nothing for twenty-four hours, without artillery or munitions, had all the appearance of a band of fugitives. Covered with mud, and scantily clothed, these poor soldiers seemed scarcely able even to defend themselves. But in such times of distress, so much do people cling to any semblance of hope, that the sight of a friendly uniform revives every heart. Seeing themselves so well received, these brave fellows made their entrance into the city in good order, and presented when defiling through the streets, in spite of their exhaustion, a martial appearance which redoubled the enthusiasm of the inhabitants. A colonel, three chiefs of battalions, and some captains, of whom one belonged to the artillery, composed the staff. Two hours after their arrival, these soldiers, most of whom had seen much service, having rested well and brushed themselves up, presented a very different appearance. The news brought by this small corps proved clearly enough that there was no time to lose, if they wanted to put the town of La Roche-Pont in a condition to defend itself with honour, if not with hope of success. The colonel, of course, took the command; his name was Dubois. He had been in the campaign in Portugal, then in Russia, whence he had returned captain, and having been appointed _chef de bataillon_ in the Saxon campaign, he had distinguished himself at Dresden, and had been a colonel from the date of the battle of Leipzig. He was a man of about thirty, but appeared to be much older. He had scarcely seen anything but the disastrous side of French glory. His countenance, therefore, did not bear that impress of confidence which was exhibited by many of his brethren in arms, who had been less tried than himself by the misfortunes of the times. Of the war in Spain he had seen only the miseries, the privations, the failure of order, the utter disintegration. With Ney on the return from Moscow he had learned what the performance of duty is without the prestige of glory. At Dresden, the regiment to which he was attached had lost half its men; and the disaster of Leipzig had followed. With each grade in his promotion was associated a mournful date.