Brave Bouille is advancing fast, with the old inflexibility; gathering himself, unhappily ‘in small affluences,’ from East, from West and North; and now on Tuesday morning, the last day of the month, he stands all concentred, unhappily still in small force, at the village of Frouarde, within some few miles.  Son of Adam with a more dubious task before him is not in the world this Tuesday morning.  A weltering inflammable sea of doubt and peril, and Bouille sure of simply one thing, his own determination.  Which one thing, indeed, may be worth many.  He puts a most firm face on the matter:  ’Submission, or unsparing battle and destruction; twenty-four hours to make your choice:’  this was the tenor of his Proclamation; thirty copies of which he sent yesterday to Nanci:—­all which, we find, were intercepted and not posted. (Compare Bouille, Memoires, i. 153-176; Deux Amis, v. 251-271; Hist.  Parl. ubi supra.)

Nevertheless, at half-past eleven, this morning, seemingly by way of answer, there does wait on him at Frouarde, some Deputation from the mutinous Regiments, from the Nanci Municipals, to see what can be done.  Bouille receives this Deputation, ’in a large open court adjoining his lodging:’  pacified Salm, and the rest, attend also, being invited to do it,—­all happily still in the right humour.  The Mutineers pronounce themselves with a decisiveness, which to Bouille seems insolence; and happily to Salm also.  Salm, forgetful of the Metz staircase and sabre, demands that the scoundrels ‘be hanged’ there and then.  Bouille represses the hanging; but answers that mutinous Soldiers have one course, and not more than one:  To liberate, with heartfelt contrition, Messieurs Denoue and de Malseigne; to get ready forthwith for marching off, whither he shall order; and ‘submit and repent,’ as the National Assembly has decreed, as he yesterday did in thirty printed Placards proclaim.  These are his terms, unalterable as the decrees of Destiny.  Which terms as they, the Mutineer deputies, seemingly do not accept, it were good for them to vanish from this spot, and even promptly; with him too, in few instants, the word will be, Forward!  The Mutineer deputies vanish, not unpromptly; the Municipal ones, anxious beyond right for their own individualities, prefer abiding with Bouille.

Brave Bouille, though he puts a most firm face on the matter, knows his position full well:  how at Nanci, what with rebellious soldiers, with uncertain National Guards, and so many distributed fusils, there rage and roar some ten thousand fighting men; while with himself is scarcely the third part of that number, in National Guards also uncertain, in mere pacified Regiments,—­for the present full of rage, and clamour to march; but whose rage and clamour may next moment take such a fatal new figure.  On the top of one uncertain billow, therewith to calm billows!  Bouille must ‘abandon himself to Fortune;’ who is said sometimes to favour the brave.  At half-past twelve, the Mutineer deputies having vanished, our drums beat; we march:  for Nanci!  Let Nanci bethink itself, then; for Bouille has thought and determined.