One day a rumour spread. The _garde-voies_ are going away. The sergeant is already off. In fact, the non-commissioned officer had left our parts, unmindful of the various pieces of furniture he had "borrowed" from the inhabitants. It was the moment to go and claim what belonged to us. The house was about to be cleared under the superintendence of a corporal, who kindly authorised us to have the piano conveyed home. He did not care for it any more; he was going away. And the instrument was put back into our drawing-room. It did not stay there for a great while. That very evening Von Bernhausen came round, greatly incensed. "That piano which the _garde-voies_ had? I hear you took it away, without asking my leave!" "But it is our piano. It was agreed we should have it back." "I want it; I will come for it to-morrow at ten. You had no right to fetch it without orders from me." Bouillot withdrew, proud of himself. The following day he came back followed by a vehicle and eight men chosen among the strongest of the band. All flocked round the piano, pushing, pulling to no purpose. "I think," said my mother-in-law, "that it would be better for the walls and for the piano if you passed it directly into the street by the window." "Hold your tongue," answered the kind officer, "you know nothing about it. The piano will go through the passage." It went through, and took with it much of the wainscot. The Hussars made a great deal of bustle, sweating blood and water. "Peuh!" Yvonne whispered in my ear, "those fellows have no muscles, they are but fat. Two years ago, when we moved to Passy, the same piano was carried in by a single, small, hunchbacked man. But look at that!" Bouillot acted the busybody, moved to and fro, jested with his men, and by way of encouragement gave them sound slaps in the small of the back. It was easy to see that these people, or at least their forefathers, had tended the swine in the forests of old Germany. At last by dint of effort the instrument was taken out of the house, carried along the pavement, and hoisted into the cart. The Hussars served as horses. Gee-ho! They rushed forward, but in the courtyard the carriage gave a start, and the piano--with intent to commit suicide--bounded out and fell to the ground. After a few convulsions, and one last writhe of agony, it lay quiet. "Oh! my beautiful Pleyel," cried Yvonne. Some fragments of wood had been knocked off; Bouillot picked them up: "It will be easy to mend." They gave the piano a lift, and made for the farm. All along the street we saw it skip along in its jolting car; the ravishers scoffingly waved their hands, and mocked at us until they were lost sight of behind a screen of snow. Two days after a new joke of the same kind. Bouillot and his whole gang broke in noisily: "I want two chairs." "All right," my mother-in-law answered, "I will give orders for them to be brought down." "No, I will choose them myself."