"Fools are plentiful. Look here, I have known this Boulainvilliers of whom you were speaking; I knew him well. At first the peasants were armed with pikes; would you believe it, he took it into his head to form them into pike-men. He wanted to drill them in crossing pikes and repelling a charge. He dreamed of transforming these barbarians into regular soldiers. He undertook to teach them how to round in the corners of their squares, and to mass battalions with hollow squares. He jabbered the antiquated military dialect to them; he called the chief of a squad a 'cap d'escade'--which was what corporals under Louis XIV. were called. He persisted in forming a regiment of all those poachers. He had regular companies whose sergeants ranged themselves in a circle every evening, and, receiving the sign and countersign from the colonel's sergeant, repeated it in a whisper to the lieutenant's sergeant, who repeated it to his next neighbor, who in his turn transmitted it to the next man, and so on from ear to ear until it reached the last man. He cashiered an officer for not standing bareheaded to receive the watchword from the sergeant. You may imagine how he succeeded. This simpleton could not understand that peasants have to be led peasant fashion, and that it is impossible to transform rustics into soldiers. Yes, I have known Boulainvilliers." They walked along a few steps, each one engrossed in his own thoughts. Then the conversation was resumed:-- "By the way, has the report of Dampierre's death been confirmed?" "Yes, commander." "Before Condé?" "At the camp of Pamars; he was hit by a cannon-ball." Boisberthelot sighed. "Count Dampierre,--another of our men, who took sides with them." "May he prosper wherever he may be!" said Vieuville. "And the ladies,--where are they?" "At Trieste." "Still there?" "Yes." "Ah, this republic!" exclaimed La Vieuville. "What havoc from so slight a cause! To think that this revolution was the result of a deficit of only a few millions!" "Insignificant beginnings are not always to be trusted." "Everything goes wrong," replied La Vieuville. "Yes; La Rouarie is dead. Du Dresnay is an idiot. What wretched leaders are all those bishops,--this Coucy, bishop of La Rochelle; Beaupoil Saint-Aulaire, bishop of Poitiers; Mercy, bishop of Luzon, a lover of Madame de l'Eschasserie--" "Whose name is Servanteau, you know, commander. Eschasserie is the name of an estate." "And that false bishop of Agra, who is a curé of I know not what!" "Of Dol. His name is Guillot de Folleville. But then he is brave, and knows how to fight." "Priests when one needs soldiers! bishops who are no bishops at all! generals who are no generals!" La Vieuville interrupted Boisberthelot. "Have you the 'Moniteur' in your state-room, commander?" "Yes." "What are they giving now in Paris?" "'Adèle and Pauline' and 'La Caverne.'" "I should like to see that."