Our own baggage delayed us so much that it was eleven A.M. before we were under way--F. and Angélique (whose relations to the twentieth degree had thronged our house all the morning) in the _calèche_, Hitchins and myself on horseback, followed by Gunner Fitzgerald, my orderly, and my groom Milward, in uniform and carrying my Waterloo lance. The day was fine, and the country pretty enough for the season; so that, after getting on the chaussée at Pierrefitte, we moved on merrily and agreeably until evening, when the sky clouded over, it became very cold, and soon a heavy fall of snow came on, in the midst of which we arrived at Beaumont, and found our people just forming the park, and those of Major Dyas already snug in their quarters. His battery had been ordered to march with us; but he had also orders not to interfere in any way with me or mine. Our billet was on an iron merchant, and thither we proceeded, whilst Hitchins went in search of his own. Our house was a respectable-looking one outside; inside it was much like a great foundry, or some such place--almost the whole of it being one vast hall, lighted from above, and full of bar-iron standing against the walls. An open staircase conducted us to a small gallery; up one more step and into a neat little room--but, from the scarcity of furniture and badness of the fire, looking sufficiently cheerless: a table, covered as usual with oil-cloth, two or three plain chairs, a bed without curtains, and windows without shutters;--such was the domicile into which we were ushered by a hideously ugly and most sulky maid-servant. Assistance from the house we soon found we must not expect, and sent out for something to eat; but the answer was _nil_, and we were forced to content ourselves with some bad tea and bread-and-butter. The evening was wretchedly cold, and our fire so insufficient that we were glad to get to bed; but here, again, were _wet_ sheets, and we were obliged to get between the blankets. Miserable evening! _20th._--Weather improved. Started about eleven, and, traversing a beautiful and fertile country, arrived in the afternoon at the pretty village of Noailles, where we found ourselves billeted on a rich old gentleman, who did not ask us to his table, but in every other respect did his utmost to make us comfortable; and so in reality we were, for our apartment was delightfully so; our fare good; and our host furnished us liberally with good wine and cider. Passed the evening playing dominoes, and wishing we could stay in such nice quarters. Began to find Angélique[28] very useful in communicating with the people, whose ways she understood better than we. Noailles is but a poor village, although prettily situated; however, there is a manufactory here of those pretty bands which French women wear below _the knee_.