Supposing it is the first time one has gone out on manoeuvres, there are all sorts of pleasant speculations in which one can indulge. Guillaumette, the surly fellow, who when in barracks always occupies the next bed and snores so atrociously--he who is not always perfectly innocent of _faire suisse_, though he has the luck of a pig, and never gets caught at any of his mean tricks--Guillaumette will be going away when one returns to barracks at the end of the manoeuvres, and who shall say what pleasant kind of a comrade may not come from among the new recruits to take his place? Jacques, for instance, who belongs to the third _peloton_ has a first-year man in the next bed to him, one who is the son of a deputy, and has always plenty of money. When the deputy's son was for guard and was warned for duty so late that he could not possibly get ready in time, Jacques lent him kit and helped him to turn out, with the result that Jacques had five francs--five francs, think of it!--with which to go to the canteen. And, soon after one has got back off manoeuvres, the new recruits will be coming in; one will be a second-year man, then, with perhaps a deputy's son to sleep in the next bed and dispense five francs at a time to one who knows all the little ways of soldiering and can be of use. The possibilities, both of the manoeuvres themselves and of what comes after, are endless, and speculation on them is a pleasant business. Surly old Sergeant Lemaire, too, is almost sure to get promotion this year, and the _peloton_ will get another sergeant to take charge of it--certainly not one with a worse temper, for that would be impossible. And the long road slips behind, while the troopers conjecture with regard to their future, talk together of horses bad and good, sergeants and corporals bad and good, comrades also bad and good; they smoke as they ride, and talk yet more of horses, for any army of the world the cavalrymen never tire of talking of horses and their own riding abilities, while in the French Army boasting of one's own horsemanship, and all the rest of one's own good qualities, is even more common than it is among English soldiers. Not that the boasting among either is carried to a nauseous extent, but the soldier is so subject to discipline, so used to doing good work with only the official recognition by way of return, that, knowing the work is good, he talks about it himself since nobody is there to do the talking for him--and this is especially true of the cavalry.