A hundred men from Clermont, under the command of M. Mathieu, and two hundred from St. Menehould, under M. Drouet, had therefore set out, to render what assistance they might in the extermination of the brigands, of whom they had as yet not seen a trace. They made merry, therefore, instead of fighting, and in the place of the rattle of musketry, was heard the more peaceful song. Eight days afterwards, a man passed on horseback, going from Clermont to St. Menehould, and crying out, “The brigands are marching on Varennes! Help! help!” The man disappeared from view—none knew him. No matter, all leaped up; the drum beat the rappel; fifty men put themselves under the direction of Bertrand; and, without inquiring the number of the enemy, marched to Varennes. Needless to say, I was one of them. From the height of the hill of Veuvilly, we saw a great cloud of dust, about half a league ahead of us. They were the men of Clermont, who, having started about half an hour before us, were about half a league ahead. At that sight, all elevated their hats on the ends of their muskets or pikes, and shouted “Vive la nation!” That cry had almost completely taken the place of “Vive le Roi!” We arrived at Varennes, which we expected to find in flames, with the streets running blood. From the height of the hill, which descends to the Rue des Réligieuses, we had a good view of the town. All was quiet. The people of Clermont, when they first arrived, were taken for the brigands, whom they were expecting every moment. When they recognised them, there was a general embracing, and crying “Vive la nation!” Then we arrived, in our turn; and two hours afterwards, the men of Montfalcon, De Bousance, and De Vouziez. The latter had marched eight leagues in five hours. They bivouacked in the Place de Latry, and the Place de Grand Monarque. They then laid out tables for a public repast, where, after an ancient custom, each one chose his companions, and found his own dinner. I had one visit to pay in Varennes—a place to which I seldom came, and where I only knew two persons, M. Guillaume and M. Billaud. I remembered me of one of the two master workmen who had priced my carpentry work for M. Drouet; and who said that if I had no work to do, and would accept it of him, he could always find me plenty. His name was Father Gerbaut. I asked his address. He lived in the Rue de la Basse Cour. The houses were not numbered at that period. On the left, descending to the Place Latry, next door to a large grocer’s, his house was situated. I called. He was out; but expected home every moment. I was received by his daughter, a charming girl, a little younger than myself—that is to say, about sixteen or seventeen years of age. She asked me to wait till her father returned, or to give her my name if I feared becoming weary of staying with her. Of course, I rejected with scorn the idea that any one could become wearied in the presence of one so gracious and charming.