But on the other hand, everywhere was a blaze of light and a bustle of people coming and going upon the footpaths.  The cafes glittered and rang with noise.  Here one little fat burgher was shouting that the town-guard was worth all the red-legs in the trenches; another as loudly was criticising the tactics of Bazaine and comparing him for his invisibility to a pasha in his seraglio; while a third sprang upon a table and announced fresh victories.  An army was already on the way from Paris to relieve Metz.  Only yesterday MacMahon had defeated the Prussians, any moment he might be expected from the Ardennes.  Nor were they only civilians who shouted and complained.  Lieutenant Fevrier saw captains, majors, and even generals who had left their entrenchments to fight the siege their own way with dominoes upon the marble tables of the cabarets.

“My poor France,” he said to himself, and a passer-by overhearing him answered: 

“True, monsieur.  Ah, but if we had a man at Metz!”

Lieutenant Fevrier turned his back upon the speaker and walked on.  He at all events would not join in the criticisms.  It was just, he reflected, because he had avoided the cafes of Metz that he was singled out for special distinction, and he fell to wondering what work it was he had to do that night.  Was it to surprise a field-watch?  Or to spike a battery?  Or to capture a convoy?  Lieutenant Fevrier raised his head.  For any exploit in the world he was ready.

General Jarras was writing at a table when Fevrier was admitted to his office.  The Chief of the Staff inclined his lamp-shade so that the light fell full upon Fevrier’s face, and the action caused the lieutenant to rejoice.  So much care in the choice of the officer meant so much more important a duty.

“The General Montaudon tells me,” said Jarras, “that you are an obedient soldier.”

“Obedience, my General, is the soldier’s first lesson.”

“That explains to me why it is first forgotten,” answered Jarras, drily.  Then his voice became sharp and curt.  “You will choose fifty men.  You will pick them carefully.”

“They shall be the best soldiers in the regiment,” said Fevrier.

“No, the worst.”

Lieutenant Fevrier was puzzled.  When dangers were to be encountered, when audacity was needed, one requires the best soldiers.  That was obvious, unless the mission meant annihilation.  That thought came to Fevrier, and remembering the cafes and the officers dishonouring their uniforms, he drew himself up proudly and saluted.  Already he saw his dead body recovered from the enemy, and borne to the grave beneath a tricolour.  He heard the lamentations of his friends, and the firing of the platoon.  He saw General Montaudon in tears.  He was shaken with emotion.  But Jarras’s next words fell upon him like cold water.

“You will parade your fifty men unarmed.  You will march out of the lines, and to-morrow morning as soon as it is light enough for the Prussians to see you come unarmed you will desert to them.  There are too many mouths to feed in Metz[A].”