As I crossed the place du Carrousel on my way to see Madame Guyet-Desfontaines, whom I had not yet thanked for her hospitality during the perilous days of the Revolution, I saw coming towards me a man I recognised, and I ran to meet my good friend Léon Pillet. Léon Pillet was one of my best friends, and, although his father, who was proprietor of the _Journal de Paris_, had given me rather a dressing down about _Henri III._, it was done so deftly and in such good taste that, instead of bearing a grudge against the old Classicist, I had thanked him. But as I ran towards him I was more taken up with the brilliant costume Léon Pillet was attired in than anything else: he had a shako with flowing tricoloured plumes, silver epaulettes, a silver belt and a royal-blue coat with trousers to match. Here was the very uniform for a man in search of one for his travels in la Vendée. My first word to Léon Pillet, after inquiring about his health, was to ask him in what corps he was an officer, and what was the charming uniform he wore. Léon Pillet was not an officer in any corps; the uniform was that of an ordinary soldier in the mounted National Guard, a uniform which, I suspected, he had just invented and was advertising to the world on his own person. The advertisement certainly produced its effect on me, for I was much taken with it: I asked for his tailor's address, and he gave it me. The tailor's name was Chevreuil; he was one of the best in Paris, and then lived in the place de la Bourse. I rushed off to Chevreuil immediately, and he measured me, undertaking to provide me with shako, epaulettes, sword and belt, and to send them all home by the 9th or 10th. I returned by the Pont des Arts. It was the first time I had passed by the Institut since I had been stationed there; its façade was riddled with the marks of bullets and shot, like the face of a man pitted with smallpox. On coming in, I found two young men awaiting me: from the gravity of their greeting I guessed they had some serious motive in their visit. They gave their names: one was M. Lenoir-Morand, captain of the military firemen, from Veilly; the other was M. Gilles, of Soissons. I do not know what paper it was that related my expedition to Soissons in a way that insulted the town; I think it was, perhaps, _le Courrier français_; the feelings of the two Soissonnais had been hurt, and they had come to demand an explanation. "Messieurs," I said to them, "I can easily explain the matter to you." They bowed.